THE body of Father Zossima was prepared for burial according tothe established Ritual. As is well known, the bodies of dead monks andhermits are not washed. In the words of the Church Ritual: "If any oneof the monks depart in the Lord, the monk designated (that is, whoseoffice it is) shall wipe the body with warm water, making first thesign of the cross with a sponge on the forehead of the deceased, onthe breast, on the hands and feet and on the knees, and that isenough." All this was done by Father Paissy, who then clothed thedeceased in his monastic garb and wrapped him in his cloak, which was,according to custom, somewhat slit to allow of its being foldedabout him in the form of a cross. On his head he put a hood with aneight-cornered cross. The hood was left open and the dead man's facewas covered with black gauze. In his hands was put an ikon of theSaviour. Towards morning he was put in the coffin which had beenmade ready long before. It was decided to leave the coffin all dayin the cell, in the larger room in which the elder used to receive hisvisitors and fellow monks. As the deceased was a priest and monk ofthe strictest rule, the Gospel, not the Psalter, had to be read overhis body by monks in holy orders. The reading was begun by FatherIosif immediately after the requiem service. Father Paissy desiredlater on to read the Gospel all day and night over his dead friend,but for the present he, as well as the Father Superintendent of theHermitage, was very busy and occupied, for something extraordinary, anunheard-of, even "unseemly" excitement and impatient expectation beganto be apparent in the monks, and the visitors from the monasteryhostels, and the crowds of people flocking from the town. And astime went on, this grew more and more marked. Both theSuperintendent and Father Paissy did their utmost to calm thegeneral bustle and agitation. When it was fully daylight, some people began bringing their sick,in most cases children, with them from the town- as though they hadbeen waiting expressly for this moment to do so, evidently persuadedthat the dead elder's remains had a power of healing, which would beimmediately made manifest in accordance with their faith. It wasonly then apparent how unquestionably everyone in our town hadaccepted Father Zossima during his lifetime as a great saint. Andthose who came were far from being all of the humbler classes. This intense expectation on the part of believers displayed withsuch haste, such openness, even with impatience and almost insistence,impressed Father Paissy as unseemly. Though he had long foreseensomething of the sort, the actual manifestation of the feeling wasbeyond anything he had looked for. When he came across any of themonks who displayed this excitement, Father Paissy began to reprovethem. "Such immediate expectation of something extraordinary," hesaid, "shows a levity, possible to worldly people but unseemly in us." But little attention was paid him and Father Paissy noticed ituneasily. Yet he himself (if the whole truth must be told), secretlyat the bottom of his heart, cherished almost the same hopes andcould not but be aware of it, though he was indignant at the tooimpatient expectation around him, and saw in it light-mindedness andvanity. Nevertheless, it was particularly unpleasant to him to meetcertain persons, whose presence aroused in him great misgivings. Inthe crowd in the dead man's cell he noticed with inward aversion(for which he immediately reproached himself) the presence ofRakitin and of the monk from Obdorsk, who was still staying in themonastery. Of both of them Father Paissy felt for some reason suddenlysuspicious- though, indeed, he might well have felt the same aboutothers. The monk from Obdorsk was conspicuous as the most fussy in theexcited crowd. He was to be seen everywhere; everywhere he wasasking questions, everywhere he was listening, on all sides he waswhispering with a peculiar, mysterious air. His expression showedthe greatest impatience and even a sort of irritation. As for Rakitin, he, as appeared later, had come so early to thehermitage at the special request of Madame Hohlakov. As soon as thatgood-hearted but weak-minded woman, who could not herself have beenadmitted to the hermitage, waked and heard of the death of FatherZossima, she was overtaken with such intense curiosity that shepromptly despatched Rakitin to the hermitage, to keep a careful lookout and report to her by letter ever half hour or so "everythingthat takes place." She regarded Rakitin as a most religious and devoutyoung man. He was particularly clever in getting round people andassuming whatever part he thought most to their taste, if hedetected the slightest advantage to himself from doing so. It was a bright, clear day, and many of the visitors werethronging about the tombs, which were particularly numerous roundthe church and scattered here and there about the hermitage. As hewalked round the hermitage, Father Paissy remembered Alyosha andthat he had not seen him for some time, not since the night. And hehad no sooner thought of him than he at once noticed him in thefarthest corner of the hermitage garden, sitting on the tombstone of amonk who had been famous long ago for his saintliness. He sat with hisback to the hermitage and his face to the wall, and seemed to behiding behind the tombstone. Going up to him, Father Paissy saw thathe was weeping quietly but bitterly, with his face hidden in hishands, and that his whole frame was shaking with sobs. Father Paissystood over him for a little. "Enough, dear son, enough, dear," he pronounced with feeling atlast. "Why do you weep? Rejoice and weep not. Don't you know that thisis the greatest of his days? Think only where he is now, at thismoment!" Alyosha glanced at him, uncovering his face, which was swollenwith crying like a child's, but turned away at once without uttering aword and hid his face in his hands again. "Maybe it is well," said Father Paissy thoughtfully; "weep ifyou must; Christ has sent you those tears." "Your touching tears are but a relief to your spirit and willserve to gladden your dear heart," he added to himself, walking awayfrom Alyosha, and thinking lovingly of him. He moved away quickly,however, for he felt that he too might weep looking at him. Meanwhile the time was passing; the monastery services and therequiems for the dead followed in their due course. Father Paissyagain took Father Iosif's place by the coffin and began reading theGospel. But before three o'clock in the afternoon that somethingtook place to which I alluded at the end of the last book, somethingso unexpected by all of us and so contrary to the general hope,that, I repeat, this trivial incident has been minutely rememberedto this day in our town and all the surrounding neighbourhood. I mayadd here, for myself personally, that I feel it almost repulsivethat event which caused such frivolous agitation and was such astumbling-block to many, though in reality it was the most natural andtrivial matter. I should, of course, have omitted all mention of it inmy story, if it had not exerted a very strong influence on the heartand soul of the chief, though future, hero of my story, Alyosha,forming a crisis and turning-point in his spiritual development,giving a shock to his intellect, which finally strengthened it for therest of his life and gave it a definite aim. And so, to return to our story. When before dawn they laidFather Zossima's body in the coffin and brought it into the frontroom, the question of opening the windows was raised among those whowere around the coffin. But this suggestion made casually by someonewas unanswered and almost unnoticed. Some of those present may perhapshave inwardly noticed it, only to reflect that the anticipation ofdecay and corruption from the body of such a saint was an actualabsurdity, calling for compassion (if not a smile) for the lack offaith and the frivolity it implied. For they expected somethingquite different. And, behold, soon after midday there were signs of something, atfirst only observed in silence by those who came in and out and wereevidently each afraid to communicate the thought in his mind. But bythree o'clock those signs had become so clear and unmistakable, thatthe news swiftly reached all the monks and visitors in thehermitage, promptly penetrated to the monastery, throwing all themonks into amazement, and finally, in the shortest possible time,spread to the town, exciting everyone in it, believers and unbelieversalike. The unbelievers rejoiced, and as for the believers some of themrejoiced even more than the unbelievers, for "men love the downfalland disgrace of the righteous," as the deceased elder had said inone of his exhortations. The fact is that a smell of decomposition began to come from thecoffin, growing gradually more marked, and by three o'clock it wasquite unmistakable. In all the past history of our monastery, nosuch scandal could be recalled, and in no other circumstances couldsuch a scandal have been possible, as showed itself in unseemlydisorder immediately after this discovery among the very monksthemselves. Afterwards, even many years afterwards, some sensiblemonks were amazed and horrified, when they recalled that day, that thescandal could have reached such proportions. For in the past, monks ofvery holy life had died, God-fearing old men, whose saintliness wasacknowledged by all, yet from their humble coffins, too, the breath ofcorruption had come, naturally, as from all dead bodies, but thathad caused no scandal nor even the slightest excitement. Of course,there had been, in former times, saints in the monastery whosememory was carefully preserved and whose relics, according totradition, showed no signs of corruption. This fact was regarded bythe monks as touching and mysterious, and the tradition of it wascherished as something blessed and miraculous, and as a promise, byGod's grace, of still greater glory from their tombs in the future. One such, whose memory was particularly cherished, was an oldmonk, Job, who had died seventy years before at the age of a hundredand five. He had been a celebrated ascetic, rigid in fasting andsilence, and his tomb was pointed out to all visitors on their arrivalwith peculiar respect and mysterious hints of great hopes connectedwith it. (That was the very tomb on which Father Paissy had foundAlyosha sitting in the morning.) Another memory cherished in themonastery was that of the famous Father Varsonofy, who was onlyrecently dead and had preceded Father Zossima in the eldership. He wasreverenced during his lifetime as a crazy saint by all the pilgrims tothe monastery. There was a tradition that both of these had lain intheir coffins as though alive, that they had shown no signs ofdecomposition when they were buried and that there had been a holylight in their faces. And some people even insisted that a sweetfragrance came from their bodies. Yet, in spite of these edifying memories, it would be difficult toexplain the frivolity, absurdity and malice that were manifestedbeside the coffin of Father Zossima. It is my private opinion thatseveral different causes were simultaneously at work, one of which wasthe deeply rooted hostility to the institution of elders as apernicious innovation, an antipathy hidden deep in the hearts ofmany of the monks. Even more powerful was jealousy of the dead man'ssaintliness, so firmly established during lifetime that it wasalmost a forbidden thing to question it. For though the late elder hadwon over many hearts, more by love than by miracles, and hadgathered round him a mass of loving adherents, none the less, in fact,rather the more on that account he had awakened jealousy and so hadcome to have bitter enemies, secret and open, not only in themonastery but in the world outside it. He did no one any harm, but"Why do they think him so saintly?" And that question alone, graduallyrepeated, gave rise at last to an intense, insatiable hatred of him.That, I believe, was why many people were extremely delighted at thesmell of decomposition which came so quickly, for not a day had passedsince his death. At the same time there were some among those whohad been hitherto reverently devoted to the elder, who were almostmortified and personally affronted by this incident. This was howthe thing happened. As soon as signs of decomposition had begun to appear, the wholeaspect of the monks betrayed their secret motives in entering thecell. They went in, stayed a little while and hastened out toconfirm the news to the crowd of other monks waiting outside. Someof the latter shook their heads mournfully, but others did not evencare to conceal the delight which gleamed unmistakably in theirmalignant eyes. And now no one reproached them for it, no one raisedhis voice in protest, which was strange, for the majority of the monkshad been devoted to the dead elder. But it seemed as though God had inthis case let the minority get the upper hand for a time. Visitors from outside, particularly of the educated class, soonwent into the cell, too, with the same spying intent. Of the peasantryfew went into the cell, though there were crowds of them at thegates of the hermitage. After three o'clock the rush of worldlyvisitors was greatly increased and this was no doubt owing to theshocking news. People were attracted who would not otherwise have comeon that day and had not intended to come, and among them were somepersonages of high standing. But external decorum was stillpreserved and Father Paissy, with a stern face, continued firmly anddistinctly reading aloud the Gospel, apparently not noticing whatwas taking place around him, though he had, in fact, observedsomething unusual long before. But at last the murmurs, firstsubdued but gradually louder and more confident, reached even him. "Itshows God's judgment is not as man's," Father Paissy heard suddenly.The first to give utterance to this sentiment was a layman, an elderlyofficial from the town, known to be a man of great piety. But heonly repeated aloud what the monks had long been whispering. Theyhad long before formulated this damning conclusion, and the worst ofit was that a sort of triumphant satisfaction at that conclusionbecame more and more apparent every moment. Soon they began to layaside even external decorum and almost seemed to feel they had asort of right to discard it. "And for what reason can this have happened," some of the monkssaid, at first with a show of regret; "he had a small frame and hisflesh was dried up on his bones, what was there to decay?" "It must be a sign from heaven," others hastened to add, and theiropinion was adopted at once without protest. For it was pointed out,too, that if the decomposition had been natural, as in the case ofevery dead sinner, it would have been apparent later, after a lapse ofat least twenty-four hours, but this premature corruption "was inexcess of nature," and so the finger of God was evident. It wasmeant for a sign. This conclusion seemed irresistible. Gentle Father Iosif, the librarian, a great favourite of thedead man's, tried to reply to some of the evil speakers that "thisis not held everywhere alike," and that the incorruptibility of thebodies of the just was not a dogma of the Orthodox Church, but only anopinion, and that even in the most Orthodox regions, at Athos forinstance, they were not greatly confounded by the smell of corruption,and there the chief sign of the glorification of the saved was notbodily incorruptibility, but the colour of the bones when the bodieshave lain many years in the earth and have decayed in it. "And ifthe bones are yellow as wax, that is the great sign that the Lordhas glorified the dead saint, if they are not yellow but black, itshows that God has not deemed him worthy of such glory- that is thebelief in Athos, a great place, which the Orthodox doctrine has beenpreserved from of old, unbroken and in its greatest purity," saidFather Iosif in conclusion. But the meek Father's words had little effect and even provokeda mocking retort. "That's all pedantry and innovation, no uselistening to it," the monks decided. "We stick to the old doctrine;there are all sorts of innovations nowadays, are we to follow themall?" added others. "We have had as many holy fathers as they had. There they areamong the Turks, they have forgotten everything. Their doctrine haslong been impure and they have no bells even, the most sneering added. Father Iosif walked away, grieving the more since he had putforward his own opinion with little confidence as though scarcelybelieving in it himself. He foresaw with distress that somethingvery unseemly was beginning and that there were positive signs ofdisobedience. Little by little, all the sensible monks were reduced tosilence like Father Iosif. And so it came to pass that all who lovedthe elder and had accepted with devout obedience the institution ofthe eldership were all at once terribly cast down and glancedtimidly in one another's faces, when they met. Those who werehostile to the institution of elders, as a novelty, held up theirheads proudly. "There was no smell of corruption from the late elderVarsonofy, but a sweet fragrance," they recalled malignantly. "Buthe gained that glory not because he was an elder, but because he was aholy man." And this was followed by a shower of criticism and even blame ofFather Zossima. "His teaching was false; he taught that life is agreat joy and not a vale of tears," said some of the moreunreasonable. "He followed the fashionable belief, he did notrecognise material fire in hell," others, still more unreasonable,added. "He was not strict in fasting, allowed himself sweet things,ate cherry jam with his tea, ladies used to send it to him. Is itfor a monk of strict rule to drink tea?" could be heard among someof the envious. "He sat in pride," the most malignant declaredvindictively; "he considered himself a saint and he took it as his duewhen people knelt before him." "He abused the sacrament ofconfession," the fiercest opponents of the institution of elders addedin a malicious whisper. And among these were some of the oldest monks,strictest in their devotion, genuine ascetics, who had kept silentduring the life of the deceased elder, but now suddenly unsealed theirlips. And this was terrible, for their words had great influence onyoung monks who were not yet firm in their convictions. The monkfrom Obdorsk heard all this attentively, heaving deep sighs andnodding his head. "Yes, clearly Father Ferapont was right in hisjudgment yesterday," and at that moment Father Ferapont himself madehis appearance, as though on purpose to increase the confusion. I have mentioned already that he rarely left his wooden cell bythe apiary. He was seldom even seen at church and they overlooked thisneglect on the ground of his craziness, and did not keep him to therules binding on all the rest. But if the whole truth is to be told,they hardly had a choice about it. For it would have beendiscreditable to insist on burdening with the common regulations sogreat an ascetic, who prayed day and night (he even dropped asleepon his knees). If they had insisted, the monks would have said, "He isholier than all of us and he follows a rule harder than ours. And ifhe does not go to church, it's because he knows when he ought to; hehas his own rule." It was to avoid the chance of these sinfulmurmurs that Father Ferapont was left in peace. As everyone was aware, Father Ferapont particularly dislikedFather Zossima. And now the news had reached him in his hut that"God's judgment is not the same as man's," and that something hadhappened which was "in excess of nature." It may well be supposed thatamong the first to run to him with the news was the monk from Obdorsk,who had visited him the evening before and left his cellterror-stricken. I have mentioned above, that though Father Paissy standing firmand immovable reading the Gospel over the coffin, could not hear norsee what was passing outside the cell, he gauged most of itcorrectly in his heart, for he knew the men surrounding him well. Hewas not shaken by it, but awaited what would come next without fear,watching with penetration and insight for the outcome of the generalexcitement. Suddenly an extraordinary uproar in the passage in open defianceof decorum burst on his ears. The door was flung open and FatherFerapont appeared in the doorway. Behind him there could be seenaccompanying him a crowd of monks, together with many people fromthe town. They did not, however, enter the cell, but stood at thebottom of the steps, waiting to see what Father Ferapont would sayor do. For they felt with a certain awe, in spite of their audacity,that he had not come for nothing. Standing in the doorway, FatherFerapont raised his arms, and under his right arm the keen inquisitivelittle eyes of the monk from Obdorsk peeped in. He alone, in hisintense curiosity, could not resist running up the steps afterFather Ferapont. The others, on the contrary, pressed farther backin sudden alarm when the door was noisily flung open. Holding hishands aloft, Father Ferapont suddenly roared: "Casting out I cast out!" and, turning in all directions, he beganat once making the sign of the cross at each of the four walls andfour corners of the cell in succession. All who accompanied FatherFerapont immediately understood his action. For they knew he alwaysdid this wherever he went, and that he would not sit down or say aword, till he had driven out the evil spirits. "Satan, go hence! Satan, go hence!" he repeated at each sign ofthe cross. "Casting out I cast out," he roared again. He was wearing his coarse gown girt with a rope. His bare chest,covered with grey hair, could be seen under his hempen shirt. His feetwere bare. As soon as he began waving his arms, the cruel irons hewore under his gown could be heard clanking. Father Paissy paused in his reading, stepped forward and stoodbefore him waiting "What have you come for, worthy Father? Why do you offendagainst good order? Why do you disturb the peace of the flock?" hesaid at last, looking sternly at him. "What have I come for? You ask why? What is your faith?" shoutedFather Ferapont crazily. "I've come here to drive out your visitors,the unclean devils. I've come to see how many have gathered here whileI have been away. I want to sweep them out with a birch broom." "You cast out the evil spirit, but perhaps you are serving himyourself," Father Paissy went on fearlessly. "And who can say ofhimself 'I am holy'? Can you, Father?" "I am unclean, not holy. I would not sit in an arm-chair and wouldnot have them bow down to me as an idol," thundered Father Ferapont."Nowadays folk destroy the true faith. The dead man, your saint," heturned to the crowd, pointing with his finger to the coffin, "didnot believe in devils. He gave medicine to keep off the devils. And sothey have become as common as spiders in the corners. And now he hasbegun to stink himself. In that we see a great sign from God." The incident he referred to was this. One of the monks was hauntedin his dreams and, later on, in waking moments, by visions of evilspirits. When in the utmost terror he confided this to Father Zossima,the elder had advised continual prayer and rigid fasting. But whenthat was of no use, he advised him while persisting in prayer andfasting, to take a special medicine. Many persons were shocked atthe time and wagged their heads as they talked over it- and most ofall Father Ferapont, to whom some of the censorious had hastened toreport this "extraordinary" counsel on the part of the elder. "Go away, Father!" said Father Paissy, in a commanding voice,"it's not for man to judge but for God. Perhaps we see here a 'sign'which neither you, nor I, nor anyone of us is able to comprehend.Go, Father, and do not trouble the flock!" he repeated impressively. "He did not keep the fasts according to the rule and therefore thesign has come. That is clear and it's a sin to hide it," thefanatic, carried away by a zeal that outstripped his reason, would notbe quieted. "He was seduced by sweetmeats, ladies brought them tohim in their pockets, he sipped tea, he worshipped his belly,filling it with sweet things and his mind with haughty thoughts....And for this he is put to shame...." "You speak lightly, Father." Father Paissy, too, raised his voice."I admire your fasting and severities, but you speak lightly like somefrivolous youth, fickle and childish. Go away, Father, I command you!"Father Paissy thundered in conclusion. "I will go," said Ferapont, seeming somewhat taken aback, butstill as bitter. "You learned men! You are so clever you look downupon my humbleness. I came hither with little learning and here I haveforgotten what I did know; God Himself has preserved me in my weaknessfrom your subtlety." Father Paissy stood over him, waiting resolutely. FatherFerapont paused and, suddenly leaning his cheek on his handdespondently, pronounced in a sing-song, voice, looking at thecoffin of the dead elder: "To-morrow they will sing over him 'Our Helper and Defender'- asplendid anthem- and over me when I die all they'll sing will be 'WhatEarthly Joy'- a little cantical,"* he added with tearful regret."You are proud and puffed up, this is a vain place!" he shoutedsuddenly like a madman, and with a wave of his hand he turnedquickly and quickly descended the steps. The crowd awaiting himbelow wavered; some followed him at once and some lingered, for thecell was still open, and Father Paissy, following Father Ferapont onto the steps, stood watching him. the excited old fanatic was notcompletely silenced. Walking twenty steps away, he suddenly turnedtowards the setting sun, raised both his arms and, as though someonehad cut him down, fell to the ground with a loud scream.

* When a monk's body is carried out from the cell to the churchand from the church to the graveyard, the canticle "What EarthlyJoy..." is sung. If the deceased was a priest as well as a monk thecanticle "Our Helper and Defender" is sung instead.

"My God has conquered! Christ has conquered the setting sun!" heshouted frantically, stretching up his hands to the sun, and fallingface downwards on the ground, he sobbed like a little child, shaken byhis tears and spreading out his arms on the ground. Then all rushed upto him; there were exclamations and sympathetic sobs... a kind offrenzy seemed to take possession of them all. "This is the one who is a saint! This is the one who is a holyman!" some cried aloud, losing their fear. "This is he who should bean elder," others added malignantly. "He wouldn't be an elder... he would refuse... he wouldn't serve acursed innovation... he wouldn't imitate their foolery," othervoices chimed in at once. And it is hard to say how far they mighthave gone, but at that moment the bell rang summoning them to service.All began crossing themselves at once. Father Ferapont, too, got upand crossing himself went back to his cell without looking round,still uttering exclamations which were utterly incoherent. A fewfollowed him, but the greater number dispersed, hastening toservice. Father Paissy let Father Iosif read in his place and wentdown. The frantic outcries of bigots could not shake him, but hisheart was suddenly filled with melancholy for some special reasonand he felt that. He stood still and suddenly wondered, "Why am Isad even to dejection?" and immediately grasped with surprise that hissudden sadness was due to a very small and special cause. In the crowdthronging at the entrance to the cell, he had noticed Alyosha and heremembered that he had felt at once a pang at heart on seeing him."Can that boy mean so much to my heart now?" he asked himself,wondering. At that moment Alyosha passed him, hurrying away, but not in thedirection of the church. Their eyes met. Alyosha quickly turned awayhis eyes and dropped them to the ground, and from the boy's lookalone, Father Paissy guessed what a great change was taking place inhim at that moment. "Have you, too, fallen into temptation?" cried Father Paissy. "Canyou be with those of little faith?" he added mournfully. Alyosha stood still and gazed vaguely at Father Paissy, butquickly turned his eyes away again and again looked on the ground.He stood sideways and did not turn his face to Father Paissy, whowatched him attentively. "Where are you hastening? The bell calls to service," he askedagain, but again Alyosha gave no answer. "Are you leaving the hermitage? What, without asking leave,without asking a blessing?" Alyosha suddenly gave a wry smile, cast a strange, very strange,look at the Father to whom his former guide, the former sovereign ofhis heart and mind, his beloved elder, had confided him as he laydying. And suddenly, still without speaking, waved his hand, as thoughnot caring even to be respectful, and with rapid steps walkedtowards the gates away from the hermitage. "You will come back again!" murmured Father Paissy, lookingafter him with sorrowful surprise. Chapter 2 A Critical Moment

FATHER PAISSY, of course, was not wrong when he decided that his"dear boy" would come back again. Perhaps indeed, to some extent, hepenetrated with insight into the true meaning of Alyosha's spiritualcondition. Yet I must frankly own that it would be very difficultfor me to give a clear account of that strange, vague moment in thelife of the young hero I love so much. To Father Paissy's sorrowfulquestion, "Are you too with those of little faith?" I could, ofcourse, confidently answer for Alyosha, "No, he is not with those oflittle faith. Quite the contrary." Indeed, all his trouble came fromthe fact that he was of great faith. But still the trouble was thereand was so agonising that even long afterwards Alyosha thought of thatsorrowful day as one of the bitterest and most fatal days of his life.If the question is asked: "Could all his grief and disturbance havebeen only due to the fact that his elder's body had shown signs ofpremature decomposition instead of at once performing miracles?" Imust answer without beating about the bush, "Yes, it certainly was." Iwould only beg the reader not to be in too great a hurry to laugh atmy young hero's pure heart. I am far from intending to apologise forhim or to justify his innocent faith on the ground of his youth, orthe little progress he had made in his studies, or any such reason.I must declare, on the contrary, that I have genuine respect for thequalities of his heart. No doubt a youth who received impressionscautiously, whose love was lukewarm, and whose mind was too prudentfor his age and so of little value, such a young man might, I admit,have avoided what happened to my hero. But in some cases it isreally more creditable to be carried away by an emotion, howeverunreasonable, which springs from a great love, than to be unmoved. Andthis is even truer in youth, for a young man who is always sensible isto be suspected and is of little worth- that's my opinion! "But," reasonable people will exclaim perhaps, "every young mancannot believe in such a superstition and your hero is no model forothers." To this I reply again, "Yes! my hero had faith, a faith holy andsteadfast, but still I am not going to apologise for him." Though I declared above, and perhaps too hastily, that I shouldnot explain or justify my hero, I see that some explanation isnecessary for the understanding of the rest of my story. Let me saythen, it was not a question of miracles. There was no frivolous andimpatient expectation of miracles in his mind. And Alyosha needed nomiracles at the time, for the triumph of some preconceived idea- ohno, not at all- what he saw before all was one figure- the figure ofhis beloved elder, the figure of that holy man whom he revered withsuch adoration. The fact is that all the love that lay concealed inhis pure young heart for everyone and everything had, for the pastyear, been concentrated- and perhaps wrongly so- on one being, hisbeloved elder. It is true that being had for so long been acceptedby him as his ideal, that all his young strength and energy couldnot but turn towards that ideal, even to the forgetting at themoment "of everyone and everything." He remembered afterwards how,on that terrible day, he had entirely forgotten his brother Dmitri,about whom he had been so anxious and troubled the day before; hehad forgotten, too, to take the two hundred roubles to Ilusha'sfather, though he had so warmly intended to do so the precedingevening. But again it was not miracles he needed but only "thehigher justice" which had been in his belief outraged by the blow thathad so suddenly and cruelly wounded his heart. And what does itsignify that this "justice" looked for by Alyosha inevitably tookthe shape of miracles to be wrought immediately by the ashes of hisadored teacher? Why, everyone in the monastery cherished the samethought and the same hope, even those whose intellects Alyosharevered, Father Paissy himself, for instance. And so Alyosha,untroubled by doubts, clothed his dreams too in the same form as allthe rest. And a whole year of life in the monastery had formed thehabit of this expectation in his heart. But it was justice, justice,he thirsted for, not simply miracles. And now the man who should, he believed, have been exalted aboveeveryone in the whole world, that man, instead of receiving theglory that was his due, was suddenly degraded and dishonoured! Whatfor? Who had judged him? Who could have decreed this? Those were thequestions that wrung his inexperienced and virginal heart. He couldnot endure without mortification, without resentment even, that theholiest of holy men should have been exposed to the jeering andspiteful mockery of the frivolous crowd so inferior to him. Even hadthere been no miracles, had there been nothing marvellous to justifyhis hopes, why this indignity, why this humiliation, why thispremature decay, "in excess of nature," as the spiteful monks said?Why this "sign from heaven," which they so triumphantly acclaimed incompany with Father Ferapont, and why did they believe they had gainedthe right to acclaim it? Where is the finger of Providence? Why didProvidence hide its face "at the most critical moment" (so Alyoshathought it), as though voluntarily submitting to the blind, dumb,pitiless laws of nature? That was why Alyosha's heart was bleeding, and, of course, as Ihave said already, the sting of it all was that the man he loved aboveeverything on earth should be put to shame and humiliated! Thismurmuring may have been shallow and unreasonable in my hero, but Irepeat again for the third time- and am prepared to admit that itmight be difficult to defend my feeling- I am glad that my hero showedhimself not too reasonable at that moment, for any man of sense willalways come back to reason in time, but, if love does not gain theupper hand in a boy's heart at such an exceptional moment, when willit? I will not, however, omit to mention something strange, which camefor a time to the surface of Alyosha's mind at this fatal andobscure moment. This new something was the harassing impression leftby the conversation with Ivan, which now persistently hauntedAlyosha's mind. At this moment it haunted him. Oh, it was not thatsomething of the fundamental, elemental, so to speak, faith of hissoul had been shaken. He loved his God and believed in Himsteadfastly, though he was suddenly murmuring against Him. Yet a vaguebut tormenting and evil impression left by his conversation withIvan the day before, suddenly revived again now in his soul and seemedforcing its way to the surface of his consciousness. It had begun to get dusk when Rakitin, crossing the pine copsefrom the hermitage to the monastery, suddenly noticed Alyosha, lyingface downwards on the ground under a tree, not moving and apparentlyasleep. He went up and called him by his name. "You here, Alexey? Can you have- " he began wondering but brokeoff. He had meant to say, "Can you have come to this?" Alyosha did not look at him, but from a slight movement Rakitin atonce saw that he heard and understood him. "What's the matter?" he went on; but the surprise in his facegradually passed into a smile that became more and more ironical. "I say, I've been looking for you for the last two hours. Yousuddenly disappeared. What are you about? What foolery is this? Youmight just look at me..." Alyosha raised his head, sat up and leaned his back against thetree. He was not crying, but there was a look of suffering andirritability in his face. He did not look at Rakitin, however, butlooked away to one side of him. "Do you know your face is quite changed? There's none of yourfamous mildness to be seen in it. Are you angry with someone? Havethey been ill-treating you?" "Let me alone," said Alyosha suddenly, with a weary gesture of hishand, still looking away from him. "Oho! So that's how we are feeling! So you can shout at peoplelike other mortals. That is a come-down from the angels. I say,Alyosha, you have surprised me, do you hear? I mean it. It's longsince I've been surprised at anything here. I always took you for aneducated man. Alyosha at last looked at him, but vaguely, as though scarcelyunderstanding what he said. "Can you really be so upset simply because your old man hasbegun to stink? You don't mean to say you seriously believed that hewas going to work miracles?" exclaimed Rakitin, genuinely surprisedagain. "I believed, I believe, I want to believe, and I will believe,what more do you want?" cried Alyosha irritably. "Nothing at all, my boy. Damn it all! why, no schoolboy ofthirteen believes in that now. But there... So now you are in a temperwith your God, you are rebelling against Him; He hasn't givenpromotion, He hasn't bestowed the order of merit! Eh, you are a set!" Alyosha gazed a long while with his eyes half closed at Rakitin,and there was a sudden gleam in his eyes... but not of anger withRakitin. "I am not rebelling against my God; I simply 'don't accept Hisworld.'" Alyosha suddenly smiled a forced smile. "How do you mean, you don't accept the world?" Rakitin thought amoment over his answer. "What idiocy is this?" Alyosha did not answer. "Come, enough nonsense, now to business. Have you had anythingto eat to-day?" "I don't remember.... I think I have." "You need keeping up, to judge by your face. It makes one sorry tolook at you. You didn't sleep all night either, I hear; you had ameeting in there. And then all this bobbery afterwards. Most likelyyou've had nothing to eat but a mouthful of holy bread. I've gotsome sausage in my pocket; I've brought it from the town in case ofneed, only you won't eat sausage...." "Give me some." "I say! You are going it! Why, it's a regular mutiny, withbarricades! Well, my boy, we must make the most of it. Come to myplace... shouldn't mind a drop of vodka myself, I am tired to death.Vodka is going too far for you, I suppose... or would you like some?" "Give me some vodka too." "Hullo! You surprise me, brother!" Rakitin looked at him inamazement. "Well, one way or another, vodka or sausage, this is ajolly fine chance and mustn't be missed. Come along." Alyosha got up in silence and followed Rakitin. "If your little brother Ivan could see this wouldn't he besurprised! By the way, your brother Ivan set off to Moscow thismorning, did you know?" "Yes," answered Alyosha listlessly, and suddenly the image ofhis brother Dmitri rose before his mind. But only for a minute, andthough it reminded him of something that must not be put off for amoment, some duty, some terrible obligation, even that reminder madeno impression on him, did not reach his heart and instantly fadedout of his mind and was forgotten. But, a long while afterwards,Alyosha remembered this. "Your brother Ivan declared once that I was a 'liberal boobywith no talents whatsoever.' Once you, too, could not resist lettingme know I was 'dishonourable.' Well! I should like to see what yourtalents and sense of honour will do for you now." This phraseRakitin finished to himself in a whisper. "Listen!" he said aloud, "Let's go by the path beyond themonastery straight to the town. H'm! I ought to go to MadameHohlakov's by the way. Only fancy, I've written to tell her everythingthat happened, and would you believe it, she answered me instantlyin pencil (the lady has a passion for writing notes) that 'she wouldnever have expected such conduct from a man of such a reverendcharacter as Father Zossima.' That was her very word: 'conduct.' Sheis angry too. Eh, you are a set! Stay!" he cried suddenly again. Hesuddenly stopped and taking Alyosha by the shoulder made him stop too. "Do you know, Alyosha," he peeped inquisitively into his eyes,absorbed in a sudden new thought which had dawned on him, and thoughhe was laughing outwardly he was evidently afraid to utter that newidea aloud, so difficult he still found it to believe in the strangeand unexpected mood in which he now saw Alyosha. "Alyosha, do you knowwhere we had better go?" he brought out at last timidly, andinsinuatingly. "I don't care... where you like." "Let's go to Grushenka, eh? Will you come?" pronounced Rakitinat last, trembling with timid suspense. "Let's go to Grushenka," Alyosha answered calmly, at once, andthis prompt and calm agreement was such a surprise to Rakitin thathe almost started back. "Well! I say!" he cried in amazement, but seizing Alyosha firmlyby the arm be led him along the path, still dreading that he wouldchange his mind. They walked along in silence; Rakitin was positively afraid totalk. "And how glad she will be, how delighted!" he muttered, but lapsedinto silence again. And indeed it was not to please Grushenka he wastaking Alyosha to her. He was a practical person and never undertookanything without a prospect of gain for himself. His object in thiscase was twofold, first a revengeful desire to see "the downfall ofthe righteous," and Alyosha's fall "from the saints to the sinners,"over which he was already gloating in his imagination, and in thesecond place he had in view a certain material gain for himself, ofwhich more will be said later. "So the critical moment has come," he thought to himself withspiteful glee, "and we shall catch it on the hop, for it's just whatwe want." Chapter 3 An Onion

GRUSHENKA lived in the busiest part of the town, near thecathedral square, in a small wooden lodge in the courtyard belongingto the house of the widow Morozov. The house was a large stonebuilding of two stories, old and very ugly. The widow led a secludedlife with her two unmarried nieces, who were also elderly women. Shehad no need to let her lodge, but everyone knew that she had takenin Grushenka as a lodger, four years before, solely to please herkinsman, the merchant Samsonov, who was known to the girl's protector.It was said that the jealous old man's object in placing his"favourite" with the widow Morozov was that the old woman shouldkeep a sharp eye on her new lodger's conduct. But this sharp eyesoon proved to be unnecessary, and in the end the widow Morozov seldommet Grushenka and did not worry her by looking after her in any way.It is true that four years had passed since the old man had broughtthe slim, delicate, shy, timid, dreamy, and sad girl of eighteenfrom the chief town of the province, and much had happened since then.Little was known of the girl's history in the town and that little wasvague. Nothing more had been learnt during the last four years, evenafter many persons had become interested in the beautiful youngwoman into whom Agrafena Alexandrovna had meanwhile developed. Therewere rumours that she had been at seventeen betrayed by someone,some sort of officer, and immediately afterwards abandoned by him. Theofficer had gone away and afterwards married, while Grushenka had beenleft in poverty and disgrace. It was said, however, that thoughGrushenka had been raised from destitution by the old man, Samsonov,she came of a respectable family belonging to the clerical class, thatshe was the daughter of a deacon or something of the sort. And now after four years the sensitive, injured and patheticlittle orphan had become a plump, rosy beauty of the Russian type, awoman of bold and determined character, proud and insolent. She hada good head for business, was acquisitive, saving and careful, andby fair means or foul had succeeded, it was said, in amassing a littlefortune. There was only, one point on which all were agreed. Grushenkawas not easily to be approached and, except her aged protector,there had not been one man who could boast of her favours during thosefour years. It was a positive fact, for there had been a good many,especially during the last two years, who had attempted to obtainthose favours. But all their efforts had been in vain and some ofthese suitors had been forced to beat an undignified and even comicretreat, owing to the firm and ironical resistance they met from thestrong-willed young person. It was known, too, that the young personhad, especially of late, been given to what is called "speculation,"and that she had shown marked abilities in that direction, so thatmany people began to say that she was no better than a Jew. It was notthat she lent money on interest, but it was known, for instance,that she had for some time past, in partnership with old Karamazov,actually invested in the purchase of bad debts for a trifle, a tenthof their nominal value, and afterwards had made out of them tentimes their value. The old widower Samsonov, a man of large fortune, was stingy andmerciless. He tyrannised over his grown-up sons, but, for the lastyear during which he had been ill and lost the use of his swollenlegs, he had fallen greatly under the influence of his protegee,whom he had at first kept strictly and in humble surroundings, "onLenten fare," as the wits said at the time. But Grushenka hadsucceeded in emancipating herself, while she established in him aboundless belief in her fidelity. The old man, now long since dead,had had a large business in his day and was also a noteworthycharacter, miserly and hard as flint. Though Grushenka's hold upon himwas so strong that he could not live without her (it had been soespecially for the last two years), he did not settle any considerablefortune on her and would not have been moved to do so, if she hadthreatened to leave him. But he had presented her with a small sum,and even that was a surprise to everyone when it became known. "You are a wench with brains," he said to her, when he gave hereight thousand roubles, "and you must look after yourself, but letme tell you that except your yearly allowance as before, you'll getnothing more from me to the day of my death, and I'll leave younothing in my will either." And he kept his word; he died and left everything to his sons,whom, with their wives and children, he had treated all his life asservants. Grushenka was not even mentioned in his will. All thisbecame known afterwards. He helped Grushenka with his advice toincrease her capital and put business in her way. When Fyodor Pavlovitch, who first came into contact with Grushenkaover a piece of speculation, ended to his own surprise by fallingmadly in love with her, old Samsonov, gravely ill as he was, wasimmensely amused. It is remarkable that throughout their wholeacquaintance Grushenka was absolutely and spontaneously open withthe old man, and he seems to have been the only person in the worldwith whom she was so. Of late, when Dmitri too had come on the scenewith his love, the old man left off laughing. On the contrary, he oncegave Grushenka a stern and earnest piece of advice. "If you have to choose between the two, father or son, you'dbetter choose the old man, if only you make sure the old scoundrelwill marry you and settle some fortune on you beforehand. But don'tkeep on with the captain, you'll get no good out of that." These were the very words of the old profligate, who feltalready that his death was not far off and who actually died fivemonths later. I will note too, in passing- that although many in our town knewof the grotesque and monstrous rivalry of the Karamazovs, father andson, the object of which was Grushenka, scarcely anyone understoodwhat really underlay her attitude to both of them. Even Grushenka'stwo servants (after the catastrophe of which we will speak later)testified in court that she received Dmitri Fyodorovitch simply fromfear because "he threatened to murder her." These servants were an oldcook, invalidish and almost deaf, who came from Grushenka's oldhome, and her granddaughter, a smart young girl of twenty, whoperformed the duties of a maid. Grushenka lived very economicallyand her surroundings were anything but luxurious. Her lodgeconsisted of three rooms furnished with mahogany furniture in thefashion of 1820, belonging to her landlady. It was quite dark when Rakitin and Alyosha entered her rooms,yet they were not lighted up. Grushenka was lying down in herdrawing-room on the big, hard, clumsy sofa, with a mahogany back.The sofa was covered with shabby and ragged leather. Under her headshe had two white down pillows taken from her bed. She was lyingstretched out motionless on her back with her hands behind her head.She was dressed as though expecting someone, in a black silk dress,with a dainty lace fichu on her head, which was very becoming. Overher shoulders was thrown a lace shawl pinned with a massive goldbrooch. She certainly was expecting someone. She lay as thoughimpatient and weary, her face rather pale and her lips and eyes hot,restlessly tapping the arm of the sofa with the tip of her right foot.The appearance of Rakitin and Alyosha caused a slight excitement. Fromthe hall they could hear Grushenka leap up from the sofa and cry outin a frightened voice, "Who's there?" But the maid met the visitorsand at once called back to her mistress. "It's not he, it's nothing, only other visitors." "What can be the matter?" muttered Rakitin, leading Alyosha intothe drawing-room. Grushenka was standing by the sofa as though still alarmed. Athick coil of her dark brown hair escaped from its lace covering andfell on her right shoulder, but she did not notice it and did notput it back till she had gazed at her visitors and recognised them. "Ah, it's you, Rakitin? You quite frightened me. Whom have youbrought? Who is this with you? Good heavens, you have brought him!"she exclaimed, recognising Alyosha. "Do send for candles!" said Rakitin, with the free-and-easy air ofa most intimate friend, who is privileged to give orders in the house. "Candles... of course, candles.... Fenya, fetch him a candle....Well, you have chosen a moment to bring him! she exclaimed again,nodding towards Alyosha, and turning to the looking-glass she beganquickly fastening up her hair with both hands. She seemed displeased. "Haven't I managed to please you?" asked Rakitin, instantly almostoffended. You frightened me, Rakitin, that's what it is." Grushenka turnedwith a smile to Alyosha. "Don't be afraid of me, my dear Alyosha,you cannot think how glad I am to see you, my unexpected visitor.But you frightened me, Rakitin, I thought it was Mitya breaking in.You see, I deceived him just now, I made him promise to believe me andI told him a lie. I told him that I was going to spend the eveningwith my old man, Kuzma Kuzmitch, and should be there till latecounting up his money. I always spend one whole evening a week withhim making up his accounts. We lock ourselves in and he counts onthe reckoning beads while I sit and put things down in the book. Iam the only person he trusts. Mitya believes that I am there, but Icame back and have been sitting locked in here, expecting some news.How was it Fenya let you in? Fenya, Fenya, run out to the gate, openit and look about whether the captain is to be seen! Perhaps he ishiding and spying, I am dreadfully frightened." There's no one there, Agrafena Alexandrovna, I've just looked out;I keep running to peep through the crack; I am in fear and tremblingmyself." "Are the shutters fastened, Fenya? And we must draw thecurtains- that's better!" She drew the heavy curtains herself. "He'drush in at once if he saw a light. I am afraid of your brother Mityato-day, Alyosha." Grushenka spoke aloud, and, though she was alarmed, she seemedvery happy about something. "Why are you so afraid of Mitya to-day?" inquired Rakitin. "Ishould have thought you were not timid with him, you'd twist him roundyour little finger." "I tell you, I am expecting news, priceless news, so I don'twant Mitya at all. And he didn't believe, I feel he didn't, that Ishould stay at Kuzma Kuzmitch's. He must be in his ambush now,behind Fyodor Pavlovitch's, in the garden, watching for me. And ifhe's there, he won't come here, so much the better! But I reallyhave been to Kuzma Kuzmitch's, Mitya escorted me there. I told him Ishould stay there till midnight, and I asked him to be sure to come atmidnight to fetch me home. He went away and I sat ten minutes withKuzma Kuzmitch and came back here again. Ugh, I was afraid, I ranfor fear of meeting him." "And why are you so dressed up? What a curious cap you've got on!" "How curious you are yourself, Rakitin! I tell you, I am expectinga message. If the message comes, I shall fly, I shall gallop awayand you will see no more of me. That's why I am dressed up, so as tobe ready." "And where are you flying to?" "If you know too much, you'll get old too soon." "Upon my word! You are highly delighted... I've never seen youlike this before. You are dressed up as if you were going to aball." Rakitin looked her up and down. "Much you know about balls." "And do you know much about them?" "I have seen a ball. The year before last, Kuzma Kuzmitch's sonwas married and I looked on from the gallery. Do you suppose I want tobe talking to you, Rakitin, while a prince like this is standing here.Such a visitor! Alyosha, my dear boy, I gaze at you and can'tbelieve my eyes. Good heavens, can you have come here to see me! Totell you the truth, I never had a thought of seeing you and I didn'tthink that you would ever come and see me. Though this is not themoment now, I am awfully glad to see you. Sit down on the sofa,here, that's right, my bright young moon. I really can't take it ineven now.... Eh, Rakitin, if only you had brought him yesterday or theday before! But I am glad as it is! Perhaps it's better he has comenow, at such a moment, and not the day before yesterday." She gaily sat down beside Alyosha on the sofa, looking at him withpositive delight. And she really was glad, she was not lying whenshe said so. Her eyes glowed, her lips laughed, but it was agood-hearted merry laugh. Alyosha had not expected to see such akind expression in her face.... He had hardly met her till the daybefore, he had formed an alarming idea of her, and had been horriblydistressed the day before by the spiteful and treacherous trick shehad played on Katerina Ivanovna. He was greatly surprised to findher now altogether different from what he had expected. And, crushedas he was by his own sorrow, his eyes involuntarily rested on her withattention. Her whole manner seemed changed for the better sinceyesterday, there was scarcely any trace of that mawkish sweetness inher speech, of that voluptuous softness in her movements. Everythingwas simple and good-natured, her gestures were rapid, direct,confiding, but she was greatly excited. "Dear me, how everything comes together to-day!" she chatteredon again. "And why I am so glad to see you, Alyosha, I couldn't saymyself! If you ask me, I couldn't tell you." "Come, don't you know why you're glad?" said Rakitin, grinning."You used to be always pestering me to bring him, you'd some object, Isuppose." "I had a different object once, but now that's over, this is notthe moment. I say, I want you to have something nice. I am sogood-natured now. You sit down, too, Rakitin; why are you standing?You've sat down already? There's no fear of Rakitin's forgetting tolook after himself. Look, Alyosha, he's sitting there opposite us,so offended that I didn't ask him to sit down before you. Ugh, Rakitinis such a one to take offence!" laughed Grushenka. "Don't be angry,Rakitin, I'm kind to-day. Why are you so depressed, Alyosha? Are youafraid of me?" She peeped into his eyes with merry mockery. "He's sad. The promotion has not been given," boomed Rakitin. "His elder stinks." "What? You are talking some nonsense, you want to say somethingnasty. Be quiet, you stupid! Let me sit on your knee, Alyosha, likethis." She suddenly skipped forward and jumped, laughing, on his knee,like a nestling kitten, with her right arm about his neck. "I'll cheeryou up, my pious boy. Yes, really, will you let me sit on your knee?You won't be angry? If you tell me, I'll get off?" Alyosha did not speak. He sat afraid to move, he heard herwords, "If you tell me, I'll get off," but he did not answer. Butthere was nothing in his heart such as Rakitin, for instance, watchinghim malignantly from his corner, might have expected or fancied. Thegreat grief in his heart swallowed up every sensation that mighthave been aroused, and, if only he could have thought clearly atthat moment, he would have realised that he had now the strongestarmour to protect him from every lust and temptation. Yet in spiteof the vague irresponsiveness of his spiritual condition and thesorrow that overwhelmed him, he could not help wondering at a newand strange sensation in his heart. This woman, this "dreadful" woman,had no terror for him now, none of that terror that had stirred in hissoul at any passing thought of woman. On the contrary, this woman,dreaded above all women, sitting now on his knee, holding him in herarms, aroused in him now a quite different, unexpected, peculiarfeeling, a feeling of the intensest and purest interest without atrace of fear, of his former terror. That was what instinctivelysurprised him. "You've talked nonsense enough," cried Rakitin, "you'd much bettergive us some champagne. You owe it me, you know you do!" "Yes, I really do. Do you know, Alyosha, I promised himchampagne on the top of everything, if he'd bring you? I'll havesome too! Fenya, Fenya, bring us the bottle Mitya left! Look sharp!Though I am so stingy, I'll stand a bottle, not for you, Rakitin,you're a toadstool, but he is a falcon! And though my heart is full ofsomething very different, so be it, I'll drink with you. I long forsome dissipation." "But what is the matter with you? And what is this message, mayI ask, or is it a secret?" Rakitin put in inquisitively, doing hisbest to pretend not to notice the snubs that were being continuallyaimed at him. "Ech, it's not a secret, and you know it, too," Grushenka said, ina voice suddenly anxious, turning her head towards Rakitin, anddrawing a little away from Alyosha, though she still sat on his kneewith her arm round his neck. "My officer is coming, Rakitin, myofficer is coming." "I heard he was coming, but is he so near?" "He is at Mokroe now; he'll send a messenger from there, so hewrote; I got a letter from him to-day. I am expecting the messengerevery minute." "You don't say so! Why at Mokroe?" "That's a long story, I've told you enough." "Mitya'll be up to something now- I say! Does he know or doesn'the?" "He know! Of course he doesn't. If he knew, there would be murder.But I am not afraid of that now, I am not afraid of his knife. Bequiet, Rakitin, don't remind me of Dmitri Fyodorovitch, he has bruisedmy heart. And I don't want to think of that at this moment. I canthink of Alyosha here, I can look at Alyosha... smile at me, dear,cheer up, smile at my foolishness, at my pleasure.... Ah, he'ssmiling, he's smiling! How kindly he looks at me! And you know,Alyosha, I've been thinking all this time you were angry with me,because of the day before yesterday, because of that young lady. I wasa cur, that's the truth.... But it's a good thing it happened so. Itwas a horrid thing, but a good thing too." Grushenka smiled dreamilyand a little cruel line showed in her smile. "Mitya told me that shescreamed out that I 'ought to be flogged.' I did insult herdreadfully. She sent for me, she wanted to make a conquest of me, towin me over with her chocolate.... No, it's a good thing it did endlike that." She smiled again. "But I am still afraid of your beingangry." "Yes, that's really true," Rakitin put in suddenly with genuinesurprise. "Alyosha, she is really afraid of a chicken like you." "He is a chicken to you, Rakitin... because you've noconscience, that's what it is! You see, I love him with all my soul,that's how it is! Alyosha, do you believe I love you with all mysoul?" "Ah, you shameless woman! She is making you a declaration,Alexey!" "Well, what of it, I love him!" "And what about your officer? And the priceless message fromMokroe?" "That is quite different." "That's a woman's way of looking at it!" "Don't you make me angry, Rakitin." Grushenka caught him up hotly."This is quite different. I love Alyosha in a different way. It'strue, Alyosha, I had sly designs on you before. For I am a horrid,violent creature. But at other times I've looked upon you, Alyosha, asmy conscience. I've kept thinking 'how anyone like that must despise anasty thing like me.' I thought that the day before yesterday, as Iran home from the young lady's. I have thought of you a long time inthat way, Alyosha, and Mitya knows; I've talked to him about it. Mityaunderstands. Would you believe it, I sometimes look at you and feelashamed, utterly ashamed of myself.... And how, and since when, Ibegan to think about you like that, I can't say, I don't remember...." Fenya came in and put a tray with an uncorked bottle and threeglasses of champagne on the table. "Here's the champagne!" cried Rakitin. "You're excited, AgrafenaAlexandrovna, and not yourself. When you've had a glass ofchampagne, you'll be ready to dance. Eh, they can't even do thatproperly," he added, looking at the bottle. "The old woman's poured itout in the kitchen and the bottle's been brought in warm and without acork. Well, let me have some, anyway." He went up to the table, took a glass, emptied it at one gulpand poured himself out another. "One doesn't often stumble upon champagne," he said, licking hislips. "Now, Alyosha, take a glass, show what you can do! What shall wedrink to? The gates of paradise? Take a glass, Grushenka, you drink tothe gates of paradise, too." "What gates of paradise?" She took a glass, Alyosha took his, tasted it and put it back. "No, I'd better not," he smiled gently. "And you bragged!" cried Rakitin. "Well, if so, I won't either," chimed in Grushenka, "I reallydon't want any. You can drink the whole bottle alone, Rakitin. IfAlyosha has some, I will." "What touching sentimentality!" said Rakitin tauntingly; "andshe's sitting on his knee, too! He's got something to grieve over, butwhat's the matter with you? He is rebelling against his God andready to eat sausage...." "How so?" "His elder died to-day, Father Zossima, the saint." "So Father Zossima is dead," cried Grushenka. "Good God, I did notknow!" She crossed herself devoutly. "Goodness, what have I beendoing, sitting on his knee like this at such a moment! She startedup as though in dismay, instantly slipped off his knee and sat down onthe sofa. Alyosha bent a long wondering look upon her and a light seemedto dawn in his face. "Rakitin," he said suddenly, in a firm and loud voice; "don'ttaunt me with having rebelled against God. I don't want to feelangry with you, so you must be kinder, too; I've lost a treasuresuch as you have never had, and you cannot judge me now. You hadmuch better look at her- do you see how she has pity on me? I camehere to find a wicked soul- I felt drawn to evil because I was baseand evil myself, and I've found a true sister; I have found atreasure- a loving heart. She had pity on me just now.... AgrafenaAlexandrovna, I am speaking of you. You've raised my soul from thedepths." Alyosha's lips were quivering and he caught his breath. "She has saved you, it seems," laughed Rakitin spitefully. "Andshe meant to get you in her clutches, do your realise that?" "Stay, Rakitin." Grushenka jumped up. "Hush, both of you. Now I'lltell you all about it. Hush, Alyosha, your words make me ashamed,for I am bad and not good- that's what I am. And you hush, Rakitin,because you are telling lies. I had the low idea of trying to gethim in my clutches, but now you are lying, now it's all different. Anddon't let me hear anything more from you, Rakitin." All this Grushenka said with extreme emotion. "They are both crazy," said Rakitin, looking at them withamazement. "I feel as though I were in a madhouse. They're bothgetting so feeble they'll begin crying in a minute." "I shall begin to cry, I shall," repeated Grushenka. "He called mehis sister and I shall never forget that. Only let me tell you,Rakitin, though I am bad, I did give away an onion." "An onion? Hang it all, you really are crazy." Rakitin wondered at their enthusiasm. He was aggrieved andannoyed, though he might have reflected that each of them was justpassing through a spiritual crisis such as does not come often in alifetime. But though Rakitin was very sensitive about everythingthat concerned himself, he was very obtuse as regards the feelings andsensations of others- partly from his youth and inexperience, partlyfrom his intense egoism. "You see, Alyosha," Grushenka turned to him with a nervouslaugh. "I was boasting when I told Rakitin I had given away anonion, but it's not to boast I tell you about it. It's only a story,but it's a nice story. I used to hear it when I was a child fromMatryona, my cook, who is still with me. It's like this. Once upon atime there was a peasant woman and a very wicked woman she was. Andshe died and did not leave a single good deed behind. The devilscaught her and plunged her into the lake of fire. So her guardianangel stood and wondered what good deed of hers he could remember totell to God; 'She once pulled up an onion in her garden,' said he,'and gave it to a beggar woman.' And God answered: 'You take thatonion then, hold it out to her in the lake, and let her take holdand be pulled out. And if you can pull her out of the lake, let hercome to Paradise, but if the onion breaks, then the woman must staywhere she is.' The angel ran to the woman and held out the onion toher. 'Come,' said he, 'catch hold and I'll pull you out.' he begancautiously pulling her out. He had just pulled her right out, when theother sinners in the lake, seeing how she was being drawn out, begancatching hold of her so as to be pulled out with her. But she was avery wicked woman and she began kicking them. 'I'm to be pulled out,not you. It's my onion, not yours.' As soon as she said that, theonion broke. And the woman fell into the lake and she is burning thereto this day. So the angel wept and went away. So that's the story,Alyosha; I know it by heart, for I am that wicked woman myself. Iboasted to Rakitin that I had given away an onion, but to you I'llsay: 'I've done nothing but give away one onion all my life, that'sthe only good deed I've done.' don't praise me, Alyosha, don't thinkme good, I am bad, I am a wicked woman and you make me ashamed ifyou praise me. Eh, I must confess everything. Listen, Alyosha. I wasso anxious to get hold of you that I promised Rakitin twenty-fiveroubles if he would bring you to me. Stay, Rakitin, wait!" She went with rapid steps to the table, opened a drawer, pulledout a purse and took from it a twenty-five rouble note. "What nonsense! What nonsense!" cried Rakitin, disconcerted. "Take it. Rakitin, I owe it you, there's no fear of yourrefusing it, you asked for it yourself." And she threw the note tohim. "Likely I should refuse it," boomed Rakitin, obviously abashed,but carrying off his confusion with a swagger. "That will come in veryhandy; fools are made for wise men's profit." "And now hold your tongue, Rakitin, what I am going to say nowis not for your ears. Sit down in that corner and keep quiet. Youdon't like us, so hold your tongue." "What should I like you for?" Rakitin snarled, not concealinghis ill-humour. He put the twenty-five rouble note in his pocket andhe felt ashamed at Alyosha's seeing it. He had reckoned on receivinghis payment later, without Alyosha's knowing of it, and now, feelingashamed, he lost his temper. Till that moment he had thought itdiscreet not to contradict Grushenka too flatly in spite of hersnubbing, since he had something to get out of her. But now he, too,was angry: "One loves people for some reason, but what have either of youdone for me?" "You should love people without a reason, as Alyosha does." "How does he love you? How has he shown it, that you make such afuss about it?" Grushenka was standing in the middle of the room; she spoke withheat and there were hysterical notes in her voice. "Hush, Rakitin, you know nothing about us! And don't dare to speakto me like that again. How dare you be so familiar! Sit in that cornerand be quiet, as though you were my footman! And now, Alyosha, I'lltell you the whole truth, that you may see what a wretch I am! I amnot talking to Rakitin, but to you. I wanted to ruin you, Alyosha,that's the holy truth; I quite meant to. I wanted to so much, that Ibribed Rakitin to bring you. And why did I want to do such a thing?You knew nothing about it, Alyosha, you turned away from me; if youpassed me, you dropped your eyes. And I've looked at you a hundredtimes before to-day; I began asking everyone about you. Your facehaunted my heart. 'He despises me,' I thought; 'he won't even lookat me.' And I felt it so much at last that I wondered at myself forbeing so frightened of a boy. I'll get him in my clutches and laugh athim. I was full of spite and anger. Would you believe it, nobodyhere dares talk or think of coming to Agrafena Alexandrovna with anyevil purpose. Old Kuzma is the only man I have anything to do withhere; I was bound and sold to him; Satan brought us together, butthere has been no one else. But looking at you, I thought, I'll gethim in my clutches and laugh at him. You see what a spiteful cur I am,and you called me your sister! And now that man who wronged me hascome; I sit here waiting for a message from him. And do you knowwhat that man has been to me? Five years ago, when Kuzma brought mehere, I used to shut myself up, that no one might have sight orsound of me. I was a silly slip of a girl; I used to sit here sobbing;I used to lie awake all night, thinking: 'Where is he now, the man whowronged me? He is laughing at me with another woman, most likely. Ifonly I could see him, if I could meet him again, I'd pay him out,I'd pay him out!' At night I used to lie sobbing into my pillow in thedark, and I used to brood over it; I used to tear my heart onpurpose and gloat over my anger. 'I'll pay him out, I'll pay himout! That's what I used to cry out in the dark. And when I suddenlythought that I should really do nothing to him, and that he waslaughing at me then, or perhaps had utterly forgotten me, I wouldfling myself on the floor, melt into helpless tears, and lie thereshaking till dawn. In the morning I would get up more spiteful thana dog, ready to tear the whole world to pieces. And then what do youthink? I began saving money, I became hardhearted, grew stout- grewwiser, would you say? No, no one in the whole world sees it, no oneknows it, but when night comes on, I sometimes lie as I did five yearsago, when I was a silly girl, clenching my teeth and crying all night,thinking, 'I'll pay him out, I'll pay him out!' Do you hear? Wellthen, now you understand me. A month ago a letter came to me- he wascoming, he was a widower, he wanted to see me. It took my breath away;then I suddenly thought: 'If he comes and whistles to call me, I shallcreep back to him like a beaten dog.' I couldn't believe myself. AmI so abject? Shall I run to him or not? And I've been in such a ragewith myself all this month that I am worse than I was five yearsago. Do you see now, Alyosha, what a violent, vindictive creature Iam? I have shown you the whole truth! I played with Mitya to keep mefrom running to that other. Hush, Rakitin, it's not for you to judgeme, I am not speaking to you. Before you came in, I was lying herewaiting, brooding, deciding my whole future life, and you can neverknow what was in my heart. Yes, Alyosha, tell your young lady not tobe angry with me for what happened the day before yesterday.... Nobodyin the whole world knows what I am going through now, and no oneever can know.... For perhaps I shall take a knife with me to-day, Ican't make up my mind..." And at this "tragic" phrase Grushenka broke down, hid her facein her hands, flung herself on the sofa pillows, and sobbed like alittle child. Alyosha got up and went to Rakitin. "Misha," he said, "don't be angry. She wounded you, but don't beangry. You heard what she said just now? You mustn't ask too much ofhuman endurance, one must be merciful." Alyosha said this at the instinctive prompting of his heart. Hefelt obliged to speak and he turned to Rakitin. If Rakitin had notbeen there, he would have spoken to the air. But Rakitin looked at himironically and Alyosha stopped short. "You were so primed up with your elder's reading last night thatnow you have to let it off on me, Alexey, man of God!" said Rakitin,with a smile of hatred. "Don't laugh, Rakitin, don't smile, don't talk of the dead- he wasbetter than anyone in the world!" cried Alyosha, with tears in hisvoice. "I didn't speak to you as a judge but as the lowest of thejudged. What am I beside her? I came here seeking my ruin, and said tomyself, 'What does it matter?' in my cowardliness, but she, after fiveyears in torment, as soon as anyone says a word from the heart to her-it makes her forget everything, forgive everything, in her tears!The man who has wronged her has come back, he sends for her and sheforgives him everything, and hastens joyfully to meet him and shewon't take a knife with her. She won't! No, I am not like that. Idon't know whether you are, Misha, but I am not like that. It's alesson to me.... She is more loving than we.... Have you heard herspeak before of what she has just told us? No, you haven't; if youhad, you'd have understood her long ago... and the person insulted theday before yesterday must forgive her, too! She will, when sheknows... and she shall know.... This soul is not yet at peace withitself, one must be tender with... there may be a treasure in thatsoul...." Alyosha stopped, because he caught his breath. In spite of hisill-humour Rakitin looked at him with astonishment. He had neverexpected such a tirade from the gentle Alyosha. "She's found someone to plead her cause! Why, are you in love withher? Agrafena Alexandrovna, our monk's really in love with you, you'vemade a conquest!" he cried, with a coarse laugh. Grushenka lifted her head from the pillow and looked at Alyoshawith a tender smile shining on her tear-stained face. "Let him alone, Alyosha, my cherub; you see what he is, he isnot a person for you to speak to. Mihail Osipovitch," she turned toRakitin, "I meant to beg your pardon for being rude to you, but nowI don't want to. Alyosha, come to me, sit down here." She beckonedto him with a happy smile. "That's right, sit here. Tell me," she tookhim by the hand and peeped into his face, smiling, "tell me, do I lovethat man or not? The man who wronged me, do I love him or not?Before you came, I lay here in the dark, asking my heart whether Iloved him. Decide for me, Alyosha, the time has come, it shall be asyou say. Am I to forgive him or not?" "But you have forgiven him already," said Alyosha, smiling. "Yes, I really have forgiven him," Grushenka murmuredthoughtfully. "What an abject heart! To my abject heart!" She snatchedup a glass from the table, emptied it at a gulp, lifted it in theair and flung it on the floor. The glass broke with a crash. Alittle cruel line came into her smile. "Perhaps I haven't forgiven him, though," she said, with a sort ofmenace in her voice, and she dropped her eyes to the ground asthough she were talking to herself. "Perhaps my heart is onlygetting ready to forgive. I shall struggle with my heart. You see,Alyosha, I've grown to love my tears in these five years.... Perhaps Ionly love my resentment, not him..." "Well, I shouldn't care to be in his shoes," hissed Rakitin. "Well, you won't be, Rakitin, you'll never be in his shoes. Youshall black my shoes, Rakitin, that's the place you are fit for.You'll never get a woman like me... and he won't either, perhaps..." "Won't he? Then why are you dressed up like that?" said Rakitin,with a venomous sneer. "Don't taunt me with dressing up, Rakitin, you don't know all thatis in my heart! If I choose to tear off my finery, I'll tear it off atonce, this minute," she cried in a resonant voice. "You don't knowwhat that finery is for, Rakitin! Perhaps I shall see him and say:'Have you ever seen me look like this before?' He left me a thin,consumptive cry-baby of seventeen. I'll sit by him, fascinate himand work him up. 'Do you see what I am like now?' I'll say to him;'well, and that's enough for you, my dear sir, there's many a sliptwixt the cup and the lip! That may be what the finery is for,Rakitin." Grushenka finished with a malicious laugh. "I'm violentand resentful, Alyosha, I'll tear off my finery, I'll destroy mybeauty, I'll scorch my face, slash it with a knife, and turn beggar.If I choose, I won't go anywhere now to see anyone. If I choose,I'll send Kuzma back all he has ever given me, to-morrow, and allhis money and I'll go out charing for the rest of my life. You think Iwouldn't do it, Rakitin, that I would not dare to do it? I would, Iwould, I could do it directly, only don't exasperate me... and I'llsend him about his business, I'll snap my fingers in his face, heshall never see me again!" She uttered the last words in an hysterical scream, but broke downagain, hid her face in her hands, buried it in the pillow and shookwith sobs. Rakitin got up. "It's time we were off," he said, "it's late, we shall be shut outof the monastery." Grushenka leapt up from her place. "Surely you don't want to go, Alyosha!" she cried, in mournfulsurprise. "What are you doing to me? You've stirred up my feeling,tortured me, and now you'll leave me to face this night alone!" "He can hardly spend the night with you! Though if he wants to,let him! I'll go alone," Rakitin scoffed jeeringly. "Hush, evil tongue!" Grushenka cried angrily at him; "you neversaid such words to me as he has come to say." "What has he said to you so special?" asked Rakitin irritably. "I can't say, I don't know. I don't know what he said to me, itwent straight to my heart; he has wrung my heart.... He is thefirst, the only one who has pitied me, that's what it is. Why didyou not come before, you angel?" She fell on her knees before him asthough in a sudden frenzy. "I've been waiting all my life forsomeone like you, I knew that someone like you would come andforgive me. I believed that, nasty as I am, someone would reallylove me, not only with a shameful love!" "What have I done to you?" answered Alyosha, bending over her witha tender smile, and gently taking her by the hands; "I only gave youan onion, nothing but a tiny little onion, that was all!" He was moved to tears himself as he said it. At that momentthere was a sudden noise in the passage, someone came into the hall.Grushenka jumped up, seeming greatly alarmed. Fenya ran noisily intothe room, crying out: "Mistress, mistress darling, a messenger has galloped up," shecried, breathless and joyful. "A carriage from Mokroe for you, Timofeythe driver, with three horses, they are just putting in freshhorses.... A letter, here's the letter, mistress." A letter was in her hand and she waved it in the air all the whileshe talked. Grushenka snatched the letter from her and carried it tothe candle. It was only a note, a few lines. She read it in oneinstant. "He has sent for me," she cried, her face white and distorted,with a wan smile; "he whistles! Crawl back, little dog!" But only for one instant she stood as though hesitating;suddenly the blood rushed to her head and sent a glow to her cheeks. "I will go," she cried; "five years of my life! Good-bye!Good-bye, Alyosha, my fate is sealed. Go, go, leave me all of you,don't let me see you again! Grushenka is flying to a new life....Don't you remember evil against me either, Rakitin. I may be goingto my death! Ugh! I feel as though I were drunk!" She suddenly left them and ran into her bedroom. "Well, she has no thoughts for us now!" grumbled Rakitin. "Let'sgo, or we may hear that feminine shriek again. I am sick of allthese tears and cries." Alyosha mechanically let himself be led out. In the yard stood acovered cart. Horses were being taken out of the shafts, men wererunning to and fro with a lantern. Three fresh horses were being ledin at the open gate. But when Alyosha and Rakitin reached the bottomof the steps, Grushenka's bedroom window was suddenly opened and shecalled in a ringing voice after Alyosha: "Alyosha, give my greetings to your brother Mitya and tell him notto remember evil against me, though I have brought him misery. Andtell him, too, in my words: 'Grushenka has fallen to a scoundrel,and not to you, noble heart.' And add, too, that Grushenka loved himonly one hour, only one short hour she loved him- so let himremember that hour all his life-say, 'Grushenka tells you to!' She ended in a voice full of sobs. The window was shut with aslam. "H'm, h'm!" growled Rakitin, laughing, "she murders your brotherMitya and then tells him to remember it all his life! What ferocity!" Alyosha made no reply, he seemed not to have heard. He walked fastbeside Rakitin as though in a terrible hurry. He was lost in thoughtand moved mechanically. Rakitin felt a sudden twinge as though hehad been touched on an open wound. He had expected something quitedifferent by bringing Grushenka and Alyosha together. Something verydifferent from what he had hoped for had happened. "He is a Pole, that officer of hers," he began again,restraining himself; "and indeed he is not an officer at all now. Heserved in the customs in Siberia, somewhere on the Chinese frontier,some puny little beggar of a Pole, I expect. Lost his job, they say.He's heard now that Grushenka's saved a little money, so he's turnedup again- that's the explanation of the mystery." Again Alyosha seemed not to hear. Rakitin could not controlhimself. "Well, so you've saved the sinner?" he laughed spitefully. "Haveyou turned the Magdalene into the true path? Driven out the sevendevils, eh? So you see the miracles you were looking out for justnow have come to pass!" "Hush, Rakitin," Alyosha, answered with an aching heart. "So you despise me now for those twenty-five roubles? I've sold myfriend, you think. But you are not Christ, you know, and I am notJudas." "Oh, Rakitin, I assure you I'd forgotten about it," cried Alyosha,"you remind me of it yourself..." But this was the last straw for Rakitin. "Damnation take you all and each of you" he cried suddenly, "whythe devil did I take you up? I don't want to know you from this timeforward. Go alone, there's your road!" And he turned abruptly intoanother street, leaving Alyosha alone in the dark. Alyosha came out ofthe town and walked across the fields to the monastery. Chapter 4 Cana of Galilee

IT was very late, according to the monastery ideas, when Alyoshareturned to the hermitage; the door-keeper let him in by a specialentrance. It had struck nine o'clock- the hour of rest and reposeafter a day of such agitation for all. Alyosha timidly opened the doorand went into the elder's cell where his coffin was now standing.There was no one in the cell but Father Paissy, reading the Gospelin solitude over the coffin, and the young novice Porfiry, who,exhausted by the previous night's conversation and the disturbingincidents of the day, was sleeping the deep sound sleep of youth onthe floor of the other room. Though Father Paissy heard Alyosha comein, he did not even look in his direction. Alyosha turned to the rightfrom the door to the corner, fell on his knees and began to pray. His soul was overflowing but with mingled feelings; no singlesensation stood out distinctly; on the contrary, one drove out anotherin a slow, continual rotation. But there was a sweetness in hisheart and, strange to say, Alyosha was not surprised at it. Again hesaw that coffin before him, the hidden dead figure so precious to him,but the weeping and poignant grief of the morning was no longer achingin his soul. As soon as he came in, he fell down before the coffinas before a holy shrine, but joy, joy was glowing in his mind and inhis heart. The one window of the cell was open, the air was freshand cool. "So the smell must have become stronger, if they openedthe window," thought Alyosha. But even this thought of the smell ofcorruption, which had seemed to him so awful and humiliating a fewhours before, no longer made him feel miserable or indignant. He beganquietly praying, but he soon felt that he was praying almostmechanically. Fragments of thought floated through his soul, flashedlike stars and went out again at once, to be succeeded by others.But yet there was reigning in his soul a sense of the wholeness ofthings- something steadfast and comforting- and he was aware of ithimself. Sometimes he began praying ardently, he longed to pour outhis thankfulness and love... But when he had begun to pray, he passed suddenly to somethingelse, and sank into thought, forgetting both the prayer and what hadinterrupted it. He began listening to what Father Paissy wasreading, but worn out with exhaustion he gradually began to doze.

"And the third day there was a marriage in Cana of Galilee,"read Father Paissy. "And the mother of Jesus was there; And both Jesuswas there; And both Jesus was called, and his disciples, to themarriage."

"Marriage? What's that?... A marriage!" floated whirling throughAlyosha's mind. "There is happiness for her, too... She has gone tothe feast.... No, she has not taken the knife.... That was only atragic phrase.... Well... tragic phrases should be forgiven, they mustbe. Tragic phrases comfort the heart... Without them, sorrow wouldbe too heavy for men to bear. Rakitin has gone off to the backalley. As long as Rakitin broods over his wrongs, he will always gooff to the back alley.... But the high road... The road is wide andstraight and bright as crystal, and the sun is at the end of it....Ah!... What's being read?"...

"And when they wanted wine, the mother of Jesus saith unto him,They have no wine"... Alyosha heard.

"Ah, yes, I was missing that, and I didn't want to miss it, I lovethat passage: it's Cana of Galilee, the first miracle.... Ah, thatmiracle! Ah, that sweet miracle! It was not men's grief, but their joyChrist visited, He worked His first miracle to help men's gladness....'He who loves men loves their gladness, too'... He was alwaysrepeating that, it was one of his leading ideas... 'There's noliving without joy,' Mitya says.... Yes, Mitya.... 'Everything that istrue and good is always full of forgiveness,' he used to say that,too"...

"Jesus saith unto her, Woman, what has it to do with thee or me? Mine hour not yet come. "His mother saith unto the servants, Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it". . .

"Do it.... Gladness, the gladness of some poor, very poor,people.... Of course they were poor, since they hadn't wine enougheven at a wedding.... The historians write that, in those days, thepeople living about the Lake of Gennesaret were the poorest that canpossibly be imagined... and another great heart, that other greatbeing, His Mother, knew that He had come not only to make His greatterrible sacrifice. She knew that His heart was open even to thesimple, artless merrymaking of some obscure and unlearned people,who had warmly bidden Him to their poor wedding. 'Mine hour is not yetcome,' He said, with a soft smile (He must have smiled gently to her).And, indeed, was it to make wine abundant at poor weddings He had comedown to earth? And yet He went and did as she asked Him.... Ah, heis reading again"...

"Jesus saith unto them, Fill the waterpots with water. And they filled them up to the brim. "And he saith unto them, Draw out now and bear unto the governor of the feast. And they bear it. "When the ruler of the feast had tasted the water that was made wine, and knew not whence it was (but the servants which drew the water knew); the governor of the feast called the bridegroom, "And saith unto him, Every man at the beginning doth set forth good wine; and when men have well drunk, that which is worse; but thou hast kept the good wine until now."

"But what's this, what's this? Why is the room growing wider?...Ah, yes... It's the marriage, the wedding... yes, of course. Hereare the guests, here are the young couple sitting, and the merry crowdand... Where is the wise governor of the feast? But who is this?Who? Again the walls are receding.... Who is getting up there from thegreat table? What!... He here, too? But he's in the coffin... but he'shere, too. He has stood up, he sees me, he is coming here.... God!"... Yes, he came up to him, to him, he, the little, thin old man, withtiny wrinkles on his face, joyful and laughing softly. There was nocoffin now, and he was in the same dress as he had worn yesterdaysitting with them, when the visitors had gathered about him. Hisface was uncovered, his eyes were shining. How was this, then? He,too, had been called to the feast. He, too, at the marriage of Cana inGalilee.... "Yes, my dear, I am called, too, called and bidden," he heard asoft voice saying over him. "Why have you hidden yourself here, out ofsight? You come and join us too." It was his voice, the voice of Father Zossima. And it must behe, since he called him! The elder raised Alyosha by the hand and he rose from his knees. "We are rejoicing," the little, thin old man went on. "We aredrinking the new wine, the wine of new, great gladness; do you see howmany guests? Here are the bride and bridegroom, here is the wisegovernor of the feast, he is tasting the new wine. Why do you wonderat me? I gave an onion to a beggar, so I, too, am here. And manyhere have given only an onion each- only one little onion.... What areall our deeds? And you, my gentle one, you, my kind boy, you toohave known how to give a famished woman an onion to-day. Begin yourwork, dear one, begin it, gentle one! Do you see our Sun, do you seeHim?" "I am afraid... I dare not look," whispered Alyosha. "Do not fear Him. He is terrible in His greatness, awful in Hissublimity, but infinitely merciful. He has made Himself like unto usfrom love and rejoices with us. He is changing the water into winethat the gladness of the guests may not be cut short. He isexpecting new guests, He is calling new ones unceasingly for everand ever.... There they are bringing new wine. Do you see they arebringing the vessels..." Something glowed in Alyosha's heart, something filled it till itached, tears of rapture rose from his soul.... He stretched out hishands, uttered a cry and waked up. Again the coffin, the open window, and the soft, solemn,distinct reading of the Gospel. But Alyosha did not listen to thereading. It was strange, he had fallen asleep on his knees, but now hewas on his feet, and suddenly, as though thrown forward, with threefirm rapid steps he went right up to the coffin. His shoulderbrushed against Father Paissy without his noticing it. Father Paissyraised his eyes for an instant from his book, but looked away again atonce, seeing that something strange was happening to the boy.Alyosha gazed for half a minute at the coffin, at the covered,motionless dead man that lay in the coffin, with the ikon on hisbreast and the peaked cap with the octangular cross on his head. Hehad only just been hearing his voice, and that voice was still ringingin his ears. He was listening, still expecting other words, butsuddenly he turned sharply and went out of the cell. He did not stop on the steps either, but went quickly down; hissoul, overflowing with rapture, yearned for freedom, space,openness. The vault of heaven, full of soft, shining stars,stretched vast and fathomless above him. The Milky Way ran in two palestreams from the zenith to the horizon. The fresh, motionless, stillnight enfolded the earth. The white towers and golden domes of thecathedral gleamed out against the sapphire sky. The gorgeous autumnflowers, in the beds round the house, were slumbering till morning.The silence of earth seemed to melt into the silence of the heavens.The mystery of earth was one with the mystery of the stars.... Alyosha stood, gazed, and suddenly threw himself down on theearth. He did not know why he embraced it. He could not have toldwhy he longed so irresistibly to kiss it, to kiss it all. But hekissed it weeping, sobbing, and watering it with his tears, andvowed passionately to love it, to love it for ever and ever. "Waterthe earth with the tears of your joy and love those tears," echoedin his soul. What was he weeping over? Oh! in his rapture he was weeping even over those stars, whichwere shining to him from the abyss of space, and "he was not ashamedof that ecstasy." There seemed to be threads from all thoseinnumerable worlds of God, linking his soul to them, and it wastrembling all over "in contact with other worlds." He longed toforgive everyone and for everything, and to beg forgiveness. Oh, notfor himself, but for all men, for all and for everything. "Andothers are praying for me too," echoed again in his soul. But withevery instant he felt clearly and, as it were, tangibly, thatsomething firm and unshakable as that vault of heaven had entered intohis soul. It was as though some idea had seized the sovereignty of hismind- and it was for all his life and for ever and ever. He had fallenon the earth a weak boy, but he rose up a resolute champion, and heknew and felt it suddenly at the very moment of his ecstasy. Andnever, never, his life long, could Alyosha forget that minute. "Someone visited my soul in that hour," he used to say afterwards,with implicit faith in his words. Within three days he left the monastery in accordance with thewords of his elder, who had bidden him "sojourn in the world." Book VIII Mitya

Chapter 1 Kuzma Samsonov

BUT Dmitri, to whom Grushenka, flying away to a new life, had lefther last greetings, bidding him remember the hour of her love forever, knew nothing of what had happened to her, and was at that momentin a condition of feverish agitation and activity. For the last twodays he had been in such an inconceivable state of mind that hemight easily have fallen ill with brain fever, as he said himselfafterwards. Alyosha had not been able to find him the morningbefore, and Ivan had not succeeded in meeting him at the tavern on thesame day. The people at his lodgings, by his orders, concealed hismovements. He had spent those two days literally rushing in all directions,"struggling with his destiny and trying to save himself," as heexpressed it himself afterwards, and for some hours he even made adash out of the town on urgent business, terrible as it was to himto lose sight of Grushenka for a moment. All this was explainedafterwards in detail, and confirmed by documentary evidence; but forthe present we will only note the most essential incidents of thosetwo terrible days immediately preceding the awful catastrophe thatbroke so suddenly upon him. Though Grushenka had, it is true, loved him for an hour, genuinelyand sincerely, yet she tortured him sometimes cruelly and mercilessly.The worst of it was that he could never tell what she meant to do.To prevail upon her by force or kindness was also impossible: shewould yield to nothing. She would only have become angry and turnedaway from him altogether, he knew that well already. He suspected,quite correctly, that she, too, was passing through an inwardstruggle, and was in a state of extraordinary indecision, that she wasmaking up her mind to something, and unable to determine upon it.And so, not without good reason, he divined, with a sinking heart,that at moments she must simply hate him and his passion. And so,perhaps, it was, but what was distressing Grushenka he did notunderstand. For him the whole tormenting question lay between himand Fyodor Pavlovitch. Here, we must note, by the way, one certain fact: he was firmlypersuaded that Fyodor Pavlovitch would offer, or perhaps hadoffered, Grushenka lawful wedlock, and did not for a moment believethat the old voluptuary hoped to gain his object for three thousandroubles. Mitya had reached this conclusion from his knowledge ofGrushenka and her character. That was how it was that he could believeat times that all Grushenka's uneasiness rose from not knowing whichof them to choose, which was most to her advantage. Strange to say, during those days it never occurred to him tothink of the approaching return of the "officer," that is, of theman who had been such a fatal influence in Grushenka's life, and whosearrival she was expecting with such emotion and dread. It is true thatof late Grushenka had been very silent about it. Yet he wasperfectly aware of a letter she had received a month ago from herseducer, and had heard of it from her own lips. He partly knew, too,what the letter contained. In a moment of spite Grushenka had shownhim that letter, but to her astonishment he attached hardly anyconsequence to it. It would be hard to say why this was. Perhaps,weighed down by all the hideous horror of his struggle with his ownfather for this woman, he was incapable of imagining any danger moreterrible, at any rate for the time. He simply did not believe in asuitor who suddenly turned up again after five years' disappearance,still less in his speedy arrival. Moreover, in the "officer's" firstletter which had been shown to Mitya, the possibility of his newrival's visit was very vaguely suggested. The letter was veryindefinite, high-flown, and full of sentimentality. It must be notedthat Grushenka had concealed from him the last lines of the letter, inwhich his return was alluded to more definitely. He had, besides,noticed at that moment, he remembered afterwards, a certaininvoluntary proud contempt for this missive from Siberia onGrushenka's face. Grushenka told him nothing of what had passedlater between her and this rival; so that by degrees he had completelyforgotten the officer's existence. He felt that whatever might come later, whatever turn things mighttake, his final conflict with Fyodor Pavlovitch was close upon him,and must be decided before anything else. With a sinking heart hewas expecting every moment Grushenka's decision, always believing thatit would come suddenly, on the impulse of the moment. All of asudden she would say to him: "Take me, I'm yours for ever," and itwould all be over. He would seize her and bear her away at once to theends of the earth. Oh, then he would bear her away at once, as far,far away as possible; to the farthest end of Russia, if not of theearth, then he would marry her, and settle down with her incognito, sothat no one would know anything about them, there, here, oranywhere. Then, oh then, a new life would begin at once! Of this different, reformed and "virtuous" life ("it must, it mustbe virtuous") he dreamed feverishly at every moment. He thirsted forthat reformation and renewal. The filthy morass, in which he hadsunk of his own free will, was too revolting to him, and, like verymany men in such cases, he put faith above all in change of place.If only it were not for these people, if only it were not for thesecircumstances, if only he could fly away from this accursed place-he would be altogether regenerated, would enter on a new path. Thatwas what he believed in, and what he was yearning for. But all this could only be on condition of the first, the happysolution of the question. There was another possibility, a differentand awful ending. Suddenly she might say to him: "Go away. I have justcome to terms with Fyodor Pavlovitch. I am going to marry him anddon't want you"- and then... but then... But Mitya did not know whatwould happen then. Up to the last hour he didn't know. That must besaid to his credit. He had no definite intentions, had planned nocrime. He was simply watching and spying in agony, while he preparedhimself for the first, happy solution of his destiny. He drove awayany other idea, in fact. But for that ending a quite different anxietyarose, a new, incidental, but yet fatal and insoluble difficultypresented itself. If she were to say to him: "I'm yours; take me away," how could hetake her away? Where had he the means, the money to do it? It was justat this time that all sources of revenue from Fyodor Pavlovitch, doleswhich had gone on without interruption for so many years, ceased.Grushenka had money, of course, but with regard to this Mitya suddenlyevinced extraordinary pride; he wanted to carry her away and begin thenew life with her himself, at his own expense, not at hers. He couldnot conceive of taking her money, and the very idea caused him apang of intense repulsion. I won't enlarge on this fact or analyseit here, but confine myself to remarking that this was his attitude atthe moment. All this may have arisen indirectly and unconsciously fromthe secret stings of his conscience for the money of Katerina Ivanovnathat he had dishonestly appropriated. "I've been a scoundrel to one ofthem, and I shall be a scoundrel again to the other directly," was hisfeeling then, as he explained after: "and when Grushenka knows, shewon't care for such a scoundrel." Where then was he to get the means, where was he to get thefateful money? Without it, all would be lost and nothing could bedone, "and only because I hadn't the money. Oh, the shame of it!" To anticipate things: he did, perhaps, know where to get themoney, knew, perhaps, where it lay at that moment. I will say nomore of this here, as it will all be clear later. But his chieftrouble, I must explain however obscurely, lay in the fact that tohave that sum he knew of, to have the right to take it, he mustfirst restore Katerina Ivanovna's three thousand- if not, "I'm acommon pick-pocket, I'm a scoundrel, and I don't want to begin a newlife as a scoundrel," Mitya decided. And so he made up his mind tomove heaven and earth to return Katerina Ivanovna that three thousand,and that first of all. The final stage of this decision, so to say,had been reached only during the last hours, that is, after his lastinterview with Alyosha, two days before, on the high-road, on theevening when Grushenka had insulted Katerina Ivanovna, and Mitya,after hearing Alyosha's account of it, had admitted that he was ascoundrel, and told him to tell Katerina Ivanovna so, if it could beany comfort to her. After parting from his brother on that night, hehad felt in his frenzy that it would be better "to murder and robsomeone than fail to pay my debt to Katya. I'd rather everyone thoughtme a robber and a murderer; I'd rather go to Siberia than that Katyashould have the right to say that I deceived her and stole hermoney, and used her money to run away with Grushenka and begin a newlife! That I can't do!" So Mitya decided, grinding his teeth, and hemight well fancy at times that his brain would give way. But meanwhilehe went on struggling.... Strange to say, though one would have supposed there was nothingleft for him but despair- for what chance had he, with nothing inthe world, to raise such a sum?- yet to the very end he persisted inhoping that he would get that three thousand, that the money wouldsomehow come to him of itself, as though it might drop from heaven.That is just how it is with people who, like Dmitri, have never hadanything to do with money, except to squander what has come to them byinheritance without any effort of their own, and have no notion howmoney is obtained. A whirl of the most fantastic notions tookpossession of his brain immediately after he had parted with Alyoshatwo days before, and threw his thoughts into a tangle of confusion.This is how it was he pitched first on a perfectly wild enterprise.And perhaps to men of that kind in such circumstances the mostimpossible, fantastic schemes occur first, and seem most practical. He suddenly determined to go to Samsonov, the merchant who wasGrushenka's protector, and to propose a "scheme" to him, and bymeans of it to obtain from him at once the whole of the sumrequired. Of the commercial value of his scheme he had no doubt, notthe slightest, and was only uncertain how Samsonov would look upon hisfreak, supposing he were to consider it from any but the commercialpoint of view. Though Mitya knew the merchant by sight, he was notacquainted with him and had never spoken a word to him. But for someunknown reason he had long entertained the conviction that the oldreprobate, who was lying at death's door, would perhaps not at allobject now to Grushenka's securing a respectable position, andmarrying a man "to be depended upon." And he believed not only that hewould not object, but that this was what he desired, and, ifopportunity arose, that he would be ready to help. From some rumour,or perhaps from some stray word of Grushenka's, he had gatheredfurther that the old man would perhaps prefer him to Fyodor Pavlovitchfor Grushenka. Possibly many of the readers of my novel will feel that inreckoning on such assistance, and being ready to take his bride, so tospeak, from the hands of her protector, Dmitri showed great coarsenessand want of delicacy. I will only observe that Mitya looked uponGrushenka's past as something completely over. He looked on thatpast with infinite pity and resolved with all the fervour of hispassion that when once Grushenka told him she loved him and wouldmarry him, it would mean the beginning of a new Grushenka and a newDmitri, free from every vice. They would forgive one another and wouldbegin their lives afresh. As for Kuzma Samsonov, Dmitri looked uponhim as a man who had exercised a fateful influence in that remote pastof Grushenka's, though she had never loved him, and who was nowhimself a thing of the past, completely done with, and, so to say,non-existent. Besides, Mitya hardly looked upon him as a man at all,for it was known to everyone in the town that he was only ashattered wreck, whose relations with Grushenka had changed theircharacter and were now simply paternal, and that this had been sofor a long time. In any case there was much simplicity on Mitya's part in all this,for in spite of all his vices, he was a very simple-hearted man. Itwas an instance of this simplicity that Mitya was seriouslypersuaded that, being on the eve of his departure for the nextworld, old Kuzma must sincerely repent of his past relations withGrushenka, and that she had no more devoted friend and protector inthe world than this, now harmless, old man. After his conversation with Alyosha, at the cross-roads, he hardlyslept all night, and at ten o'clock next morning, he was at thehouse of Samsonov and telling the servant to announce him. It was avery large and gloomy old house of two stories, with a lodge andouthouses. In the lower story lived Samsonov's two married sons withtheir families, his old sister, and his unmarried daughter. In thelodge lived two of his clerks, one of whom also had a large family.Both the lodge and the lower story were overcrowded, but the old mankept the upper floor to himself, and would not even let the daughterlive there with him, though she waited upon him, and in spite of herasthma was obliged at certain fixed hours, and at any time he mightcall her, to run upstairs to him from below. This upper floor contained a number of large rooms kept purely forshow, furnished in the old-fashioned merchant style, with longmonotonous rows of clumsy mahogany chairs along the walls, withglass chandeliers under shades, and gloomy mirrors on the walls. Allthese rooms were entirely empty and unused, for the old man kept toone room, a small, remote bedroom, where he was waited upon by anold servant with a kerchief on her head, and by a lad, who used to siton the locker in the passage. Owing to his swollen legs, the old mancould hardly walk at all, and was only rarely lifted from hisleather armchair, when the old woman supporting him led him up anddown the room once or twice. He was morose and taciturn even with thisold woman. When he was informed of the arrival of the "captain," he at oncerefused to see him. But Mitya persisted and sent his name up again.Samsonov questioned the lad minutely: What he looked like? Whetherhe was drunk? Was he going to make a row? The answer he receivedwas: that he was sober, but wouldn't go away. The old man againrefused to see him. Then Mitya, who had foreseen this, and purposelybrought pencil and paper with him, wrote clearly on the piece of paperthe words: "On most important business closely concerning AgrafenaAlexandrovna," and sent it up to the old man. After thinking a little Samsonov told the lad to take thevisitor to the drawing-room, and sent the old woman downstairs witha summons to his younger son to come upstairs to him at once. Thisyounger son, a man over six foot and of exceptional physical strength,who was closely-shaven and dressed in the European style, though hisfather still wore a kaftan and a beard, came at once without acomment. All the family trembled before the father. The old man hadsent for this giant, not because he was afraid of the "captain" (hewas by no means of a timorous temper), but in order to have awitness in case of any emergency. Supported by his son and the servantlad, he waddled at last into the drawing-room. It may be assumedthat he felt considerable curiosity. The drawing-room in which Mityawas awaiting him was a vast, dreary room that laid a weight ofdepression on the heart. It had a double row of windows, a gallery,marbled walls, and three immense chandeliers with glass lustrescovered with shades. Mitya was sitting on a little chair at the entrance, awaitinghis fate with nervous impatience. When the old man appeared at theopposite door, seventy feet away, Mitya jumped up at once, and withhis long, military stride walked to meet him. Mitya was welldressed, in a frock-coat, buttoned up, with a round hat and blackgloves in his hands, just as he had been three days before at theelder's, at the family meeting with his father and brothers. The oldman waited for him, standing dignified and unbending, and Mitya feltat once that he had looked him through and through as he advanced.Mitya was greatly impressed, too, with Samsonov's immensely swollenface. His lower lip, which had always been thick, hung down now,looking like a bun. He bowed to his guest in dignified silence,motioned him to a low chair by the sofa, and, leaning on his son's armhe began lowering himself on to the sofa opposite, groaning painfully,so that Mitya, seeing his painful exertions, immediately feltremorseful and sensitively conscious of his insignificance in thepresence of the dignified person he had ventured to disturb. "What is it you want of me, sir?" said the old man,deliberately, distinctly, severely, but courteously, when he was atlast seated. Mitya started, leapt up, but sat down again. Then he began at oncespeaking with loud, nervous haste, gesticulating, and in a positivefrenzy. He was unmistakably a man driven into a corner, on the brinkof ruin, catching at the last straw, ready to sink if he failed. OldSamsonov probably grasped all this in an instant, though his faceremained cold and immovable as a statue's. "Most honoured sir, Kuzma Kuzmitch, you have no doubt heard morethan once of my disputes with my father, Fyodor PavlovitchKaramazov, who robbed me of my inheritance from my mother... seeingthe whole town is gossiping about it... for here everyone'sgossiping of what they shouldn't... and besides, it might have reachedyou through Grushenka... I beg your pardon, through AgrafenaAlexandrovna... Agrafena Alexandrovna, the lady of whom I have thehighest respect and esteem..." So Mitya began, and broke down at the first sentence. We willnot reproduce his speech word for word, but will only summarise thegist of it. Three months ago, he said, he had of express intention(Mitya purposely used these words instead of "intentionally")consulted a lawyer in the chief town of the province, "a distinguishedlawyer, Kuzma Kuzmitch, Pavel Pavlovitch Korneplodov. You have perhapsheard of him? A man of vast intellect, the mind of a statesman... heknows you, too... spoke of you in the highest terms..." Mitya brokedown again. But these breaks did not deter him. He leapt instantlyover the gaps, and struggled on and on. This Korneplodov, after questioning him minutely, and inspectingthe documents he was able to bring him (Mitya alluded somewhat vaguelyto these documents, and slurred over the subject with specialhaste), reported that they certainly might take proceedings concerningthe village of Tchermashnya, which ought, he said, to have come tohim, Mitya, from his mother, and so checkmate the old villain, hisfather... "because every door was not closed and justice might stillfind a loophole." In fact, he might reckon on an additional sum of sixor even seven thousand roubles from Fyodor Pavlovitch, as Tchermashnyawas worth, at least, twenty-five thousand, he might say twenty-eightthousand, in fact, "thirty, thirty, Kuzma Kuzmitch, and would youbelieve it, I didn't get seventeen from that heartless man!" So he,Mitya, had thrown the business up for the time, knowing nothingabout the law, but on coming here was struck dumb by a cross- claimmade upon him (here Mitya went adrift again and again took a flyingleap forward), "so will not you, excellent and honoured KuzmaKuzmitch, be willing to take up all my claims against that unnaturalmonster, and pay me a sum down of only three thousand?... You see, youcannot, in any case, lose over it. On my honour, my honour, I swearthat. Quite the contrary, you may make six or seven thousand insteadof three." Above all, he wanted this concluded that very day. "I'll do the business with you at a notary's, or whatever it is...in fact, I'm ready to do anything. .. I'll hand over all thedeeds... whatever you want, sign anything... and we could draw upthe agreement at once... and if it were possible, if it were onlypossible, that very morning.... You could pay me that threethousand, for there isn't a capitalist in this town to compare withyou, and so would save me from... save me, in fact... for a good, Imight say an honourable action.... For I cherish the most honourablefeelings for a certain person, whom you know well, and care for as afather. I would not have come, indeed, if it had not been as a father.And, indeed, it's a struggle of three in this business, for it's fate-that's a fearful thing, Kuzma Kuzmitch! A tragedy, Kuzma Kuzmitch, atragedy! And as you've dropped out long ago, it's a tug-of-war betweentwo. I'm expressing it awkwardly, perhaps, but I'm not a literary man.You see, I'm on the one side, and that monster on the other. So youmust choose. It's either I or the monster. It all lies in yourhands-.the fate of three lives, and the happiness of two.... Excuseme, I'm making a mess of it, but you understand... I see from yourvenerable eyes that you understand... and if you don't understand, I'mdone for... so you see!" Mitya broke off his clumsy speech with that, "so you see!" andjumping up from his seat, awaited the answer to his foolishproposal. At the last phrase he had suddenly become hopelessly awarethat it had all fallen flat, above all, that he had been talking utternonsense. "How strange it is! On the way here it seemed all right, and nowit's nothing but nonsense." The idea suddenly dawned on his despairingmind. All the while he had been talking, the old man sat motionless,watching him with an icy expression in his eyes. After keeping him fora moment in suspense, Kuzma Kuzmitch pronounced at last in the mostpositive and chilling tone: "Excuse me, we don't undertake such business." Mitya suddenly felt his legs growing weak under him. "What am I to do now, Kuzma Kuzmitch?" he muttered, with a palesmile. "I suppose it's all up with me- what do you think?" "Excuse me..." Mitya remained standing, staring motionless. He suddenly noticed amovement in the old man's face. He started. "You see, sir, business of that sort's not in our line," saidthe old man slowly. "There's the court, and the lawyers- it's aperfect misery. But if you like, there is a man here you might applyto." "Good heavens! Who is it? You're my salvation, Kuzma Kuzmitch,"faltered Mitya. "He doesn't live here, and he's not here just now. He is apeasant, he does business in timber. His name is Lyagavy. He's beenhaggling with Fyodor Pavlovitch for the last year, over your copseat Tchermashnya. They can't agree on the price, maybe you've heard?Now he's come back again and is staying with the priest atIlyinskoe, about twelve versts from the Volovya station. He wrote tome, too, about the business of the copse, asking my advice. FyodorPavlovitch means to go and see him himself. So if you were to bebeforehand with Fyodor Pavlovitch and to make Lyagavy the offer you'vemade me, he might possibly- " "A brilliant idea!" Mitya interrupted ecstatically. "He's the veryman, it would just suit him. He's haggling with him for it, beingasked too much, and here he would have all the documents entitling himto the property itself. Ha ha ha!" And Mitya suddenly went off into his short, wooden laugh,startling Samsonov. "How can I thank you, Kuzma Kuzmitch?" cried Mitya effusively. "Don't mention it," said Samsonov, inclining his head. "But you don't know, you've saved me. Oh, it was a truepresentiment brought me to you.... So now to this priest! "No need of thanks." "I'll make haste and fly there. I'm afraid I've overtaxed yourstrength. I shall never forget it. It's a Russian says that, KuzmaKuzmitch, a R-r-russian!" "To be sure!" Mitya seized his hand to press it, but there was amalignant gleam in the old man's eye. Mitya drew back his hand, but atonce blamed himself for his mistrustfulness. "It's because he's tired," he thought. "For her sake! For her sake, Kuzma Kuzmitch! You understand thatit's for her," he cried, his voice ringing through the room. He bowed,turned sharply round, and with the same long stride walked to the doorwithout looking back. He was trembling with delight. "Everything was on the verge of ruin and my guardian angel savedme," was the thought in his mind. And if such a business man asSamsonov (a most worthy old man, and what dignity!) had suggested thiscourse, then... then success was assured. He would fly offimmediately. "I will be back before night, I shall be back at nightand the thing is done. Could the old man have been laughing at me?"exclaimed Mitya, as he strode towards his lodging. He could, ofcourse, imagine nothing but that the advice was practical "from such abusiness man" with an understanding of the business, with anunderstanding of this Lyagavy (curious surname!). Or- the old manwas laughing at him. Alas! The second alternative was the correct one. Long afterwards,when the catastrophe had happened, old Samsonov himself confessed,laughing, that he had made a fool of the "captain." He was a cold,spiteful and sarcastic man, liable to violent antipathies. Whetherit was the "captain's" excited face, or the foolish conviction ofthe "rake and spendthrift," that he, Samsonov, could be taken in bysuch a cock-and-bull story as his scheme, or his jealousy ofGrushenka, in whose name this "scapegrace" had rushed in on him withsuch a tale to get money which worked on the old man, I can't tell.But at the instant when Mitya stood before him, feeling his legsgrow weak under him, and frantically exclaiming that he was ruined, atthat moment the old man looked at him with intense spite, and resolvedto make a laughing-stock of him. When Mitya had gone, KuzmaKuzmitch, white with rage, turned to his son and bade him see to itthat that beggar be never seen again, and never admitted even into theyard, or else he'd- He did not utter his threat. But even his son, who often saw himenraged, trembled with fear. For a whole hour afterwards, the oldman was shaking with anger, and by evening he was worse, and sentfor the doctor. Chapter 2 Lyagavy

SO he must drive at full speed, and he had not the money forhorses. He had forty copecks, and that was all, all that was leftafter so many years of prosperity! But he had at home an old silverwatch which had long ceased to go. He snatched it up and carried it toa Jewish watch maker who had a shop in the market-place. The Jewgave him six roubles for it. "And I didn't expect that cried Mitya, ecstatically. (He was stillin a state of ecstasy.) He seized his six roubles and ran home. Athome he borrowed three roubles from the people of the house, who lovedhim so much that they were pleased to give it him, though it was allthey had. Mitya in his excitement told them on the spot that hisfate would be decided that day, and he described, in desperatehaste, the whole scheme he had put before Samsonov, the latter'sdecision, his own hopes for the future, and so on. These people hadbeen told many of their lodger's secrets before, and so looked uponhim as a gentleman who was not at all proud, and almost one ofthemselves. Having thus collected nine roubles Mitya sent forposting-horses to take him to the Volovya station. This was how thefact came to be remembered and established that "at midday, on the daybefore the event, Mitya had not a farthing, and that he had sold hiswatch to get money and had borrowed three roubles from his landlord,all in the presence of witnesses." I note this fact, later on it will be apparent why I do so. Though he was radiant with the joyful anticipation that he wouldat last solve all his difficulties, yet, as he drew near Volovyastation, he trembled at the thought of what Grushenka might be doingin his absence. What if she made up her mind to-day to go to FyodorPavlovitch? This was why he had gone off without telling her and whyhe left orders with his landlady not to let out where he had gone,if anyone came to inquire for him. "I must, I must get back to-night," he repeated, as he wasjolted along in the cart, "and I dare say I shall have to bring thisLyagavy back here... to draw up the deed." So mused Mitya, with athrobbing heart, but alas! his dreams were not fated to be carriedout. To begin with, he was late, taking a short cut from Volovyastation which turned out to be eighteen versts instead of twelve.Secondly, he did not find the priest at home at Ilyinskoe; he had goneoff to a neighbouring village. While Mitya, setting off there with thesame exhausted horses, was looking for him, it was almost dark. The priest, a shy and amiable looking little man, informed himat once that though Lyagavy had been staying with him at first, he wasnow at Suhoy Possyolok, that he was staying the night in theforester's cottage, as he was buying timber there too. At Mitya'surgent request that he would take him to Lyagavy at once, and by sodoing "save him, so to speak," the priest agreed, after some demur, toconduct him to Suhoy Possyolok; his curiosity was obviously aroused.But, unluckily, he advised their going on foot, as it would not be"much over" a verst. Mitya, of course, agreed, and marched off withhis yard-long strides, so that the poor priest almost ran after him.He was a very cautious man, though not old. Mitya at once began talking to him, too, of his plans, nervouslyand excitedly asking advice in regard to Lyagavy, and talking allthe way. The priest listened attentively, but gave little advice. Heturned off Mitya's questions with: "I don't know. Ah, I can't say. Howcan I tell?" and so on. When Mitya began to speak of his quarrelwith his father over his inheritance, the priest was positivelyalarmed, as he was in some way dependent on Fyodor Pavlovitch. Heinquired, however, with surprise, why he called the peasant-traderGorstkin, Lyagavy, and obligingly explained to Mitya that, thoughthe man's name really was Lyagavy, he was never called so, as he wouldbe grievously offended at the name, and that he must be sure to callhim Gorstkin, "or you'll do nothing with him; he won't even listento you," said the priest in conclusion. Mitya was somewhat surprised for a moment, and explained that thatwas what Samsonov had called him. On hearing this fact, the priestdropped the subject, though he would have done well to put intowords his doubt whether, if Samsonov had sent him to that peasant,calling him Lyagavy, there was not something wrong about it and he wasturning him into ridicule. But Mitya had no time to pause over suchtrifles. He hurried, striding along, and only when he reached SuhoyPossyolok did he realise that they had come not one verst, nor one anda half, but at least three. This annoyed him, but he controlledhimself. They went into the hut. The forester lived in one half of the hut,and Gorstkin was lodging in the other, the better room the otherside of the passage. They went into that room and lighted a tallowcandle. The hut was extremely overheated. On the table there was asamovar that had gone out, a tray with cups, an empty rum bottle, abottle of vodka partly full, and some half-eaten crusts of wheatenbread. The visitor himself lay stretched at full length on thebench, with his coat crushed up under his head for a pillow, snoringheavily. Mitya stood in perplexity. "Of course, I must wake him. My business is too important. I'vecome in such haste. I'm in a hurry to get back to-day," he said ingreat agitation. But the priest and the forester stood in silence, notgiving their opinion. Mitya went up and began trying to wake himhimself; he tried vigorously, but the sleeper did not wake. "He's drunk," Mitya decided. "Good Lord! What am I to do? Whatam I to do?" And, terribly impatient, he began pulling him by thearms, by the legs, shaking his head, lifting him up and making him siton the bench. Yet, after prolonged exertions, he could only succeed ingetting the drunken man to utter absurd grunts, and violent, butinarticulate oaths. "No, you'd better wait a little," the priest pronounced at last,"for he's obviously not in a fit state." "He's been drinking the whole day," the forester chimed in. "Good heavens!" cried Mitya. "If only you knew how important it isto me and how desperate I am!" "No, you'd better wait till morning," the priest repeated. "Till morning? Mercy! that's impossible!" And in his despair hewas on the point of attacking the sleeping man again, but stoppedshort at once, realising the uselessness of his efforts. The priestsaid nothing, the sleepy forester looked gloomy. "What terrible tragedies real life contrives for people," saidMitya, in complete despair. The perspiration was streaming down hisface. The priest seized the moment to put before him, very reasonably,that, even if he succeeded in wakening the man, he would still bedrunk and incapable of conversation. "And your business is important,"he said, "so you'd certainly better put it off till morning." With agesture of despair Mitya agreed. "Father, I will stay here with a light, and seize the favourablemoment. As soon as he wakes I'll begin. I'll pay you for the light,"he said to the forester, "for the night's lodging, too; you'llremember Dmitri Karamazov. Only Father, I don't know what we're todo with you. Where will you sleep?" "No, I'm going home. I'll take his horse and get home," he said,indicating the forester. "And now I'll say good-bye. I wish you allsuccess." So it was settled. The priest rode off on the forester's horse,delighted to escape, though he shook his head uneasily, wonderingwhether he ought not next day to inform his benefactor FyodorPavlovitch of this curious incident, "or he may in an unlucky hourhear of it, be angry, and withdraw his favour." The forester, scratching himself, went back to his room withouta word, and Mitya sat on the bench to "catch the favourable moment,"as he expressed it. Profound dejection clung about his soul like aheavy mist. A profound, intense dejection! He sat thinking, butcould reach no conclusion. The candle burnt dimly, a cricketchirped; it became insufferably close in the overheated room. Hesuddenly pictured the garden, the path behind the garden, the doorof his father's house mysteriously opening and Grushenka running in.He leapt up from the bench. "It's a tragedy!" he said, grinding his teeth. Mechanically hewent up to the sleeping man and looked in his face. He was a lean,middle-aged peasant, with a very long face, flaxen curls, and along, thin, reddish beard, wearing a blue cotton shirt and a blackwaistcoat, from the pocket of which peeped the chain of a silverwatch. Mitya looked at his face with intense hatred, and for someunknown reason his curly hair particularly irritated him. What was insufferably humiliating was that, after leaving thingsof such importance and making such sacrifices, he, Mitya, utterly wornout, should with business of such urgency be standing over this dolton whom his whole fate depended, while he snored as though therewere nothing the matter, as though he'd dropped from another planet. "Oh, the irony of fate!" cried Mitya, and, quite losing hishead, he fell again to rousing the tipsy peasant. He roused him with asort of ferocity, pulled at him, pushed him, even beat him; butafter five minutes of vain exertions, he returned to his bench inhelpless despair, and sat down. "Stupid! Stupid!" cried Mitya. "And how dishonourable it allis!" something made him add. His head began to ache horribly."Should he fling it up and go away altogether?" he wondered. "No, waittill to-morrow now. I'll stay on purpose. What else did I come for?Besides, I've no means of going. How am I to get away from here now?Oh, the idiocy of it" But his head ached more and more. He sat withoutmoving, and unconsciously dozed off and fell asleep as he sat. Heseemed to have slept for two hours or more. He was waked up by hishead aching so unbearably that he could have screamed. There was ahammering in his temples, and the top of his head ached. It was a longtime before he could wake up fully and understand what had happened tohim. At last he realised that the room was full of charcoal fumesfrom the stove, and that he might die of suffocation. And thedrunken peasant still lay snoring. The candle guttered and was aboutto go out. Mitya cried out, and ran staggering across the passage intothe forester's room. The forester waked up at once, but hearing thatthe other room was full of fumes, to Mitya's surprise and annoyance,accepted the fact with strange unconcern, though he did go to see toit. "But he's dead, he's dead! and... what am I to do then?" criedMitya frantically. They threw open the doors, opened a window and the chimney.Mitya brought a pail of water from the passage. First he wetted hisown head, then, finding a rag of some sort, dipped it into thewater, and put it on Lyagavy's head. The forester still treated thematter contemptuously, and when he opened the window said grumpily: "It'll be all right, now." He went back to sleep, leaving Mitya a lighted lantern. Mityafussed about the drunken peasant for half an hour, wetting his head,and gravely resolved not to sleep all night. But he was so worn outthat when he sat down for a moment to take breath, he closed his eyes,unconsciously stretched himself full length on the bench and sleptlike the dead. It was dreadfully late when he waked. It was somewhere aboutnine o'clock. The sun was shining brightly in the two little windowsof the hut. The curly-headed peasant was sitting on the bench andhad his coat on. He had another samovar and another bottle in front ofhim. Yesterday's bottle had already been finished, and the new one wasmore than half empty. Mitya jumped up and saw at once that thecursed peasant was drunk again, hopelessly and incurably. He stared athim for a moment with wide opened eyes. The peasant was silently andslyly watching him, with insulting composure, and even a sort ofcontemptuous condescension, so Mitya fancied. He rushed up to him. "Excuse me, you see... I... you've most likely heard from theforester here in the hut. I'm Lieutenant Dmitri Karamazov, the sonof the old Karamazov whose copse you are buying." "That's a lie!" said the peasant, calmly and confidently. "A lie? You know Fyodor Pavlovitch?" "I don't know any of your Fyodor Pavlovitches," said thepeasant, speaking thickly. "You're bargaining with him for the copse, for the copse. Dowake up, and collect yourself. Father Pavel of Ilyinskoe brought mehere. You wrote to Samsonov, and he has sent me to you," Mityagasped breathlessly. "You're lying!" Lyagavy blurted out again. Mitya's legs went cold. "For mercy's sake! It isn't a joke! You're drunk, perhaps. Yet youcan speak and understand... or else... I understand nothing!" "You're a painter!" "For mercy's sake! I'm Karamazov, Dmitri Karamazov. I have anoffer to make you, an advantageous offer... very advantageous offer,concerning the copse!" The peasant stroked his beard importantly. "No, you've contracted for the job and turned out a scamp.You're a scoundrel!" "I assure you you're mistaken," cried Mitya, wringing his hands indespair. The peasant still stroked his beard, and suddenly screwedup his eyes cunningly. "No, you show me this: you tell me the law that allows roguery.D'you hear? You're a scoundrel! Do you understand that?" Mitya stepped back gloomily, and suddenly "something seemed to hithim on the head," as he said afterwards. In an instant a lightseemed to dawn in his mind, "a light was kindled and I grasped itall." He stood, stupefied, wondering how he, after all a man ofintelligence, could have yielded to such folly, have been led intosuch an adventure, and have kept it up for almost twenty-four hours,fussing round this Lyagavy, wetting his head. "Why, the man's drunk, dead drunk, and he'll go on drinking nowfor a week; what's the use of waiting here? And what if Samsonovsent me here on purpose? What if she- ? Oh God, what have I done?" The peasant sat watching him and grinning. Another time Mityamight have killed the fool in a fury, but now he felt as weak as achild. He went quietly to the bench, took up his overcoat, put it onwithout a word, and went out of the hut. He did not find theforester in the next room; there was no one there. He took fiftycopecks in small change out of his pocket and put them on the tablefor his night's lodging, the candle, and the trouble he had given.Coming out of the hut he saw nothing but forest all round. He walkedat hazard, not knowing which way to turn out of the hut, to theright or to the left. Hurrying there the evening before with thepriest, he had not noticed the road. He had no revengeful feelingfor anybody, even for Samsonov, in his heart. He strode along a narrowforest path, aimless, dazed, without heeding where he was going. Achild could have knocked him down, so weak was he in body and soul. Hegot out of the forest somehow, however, and a vista of fields, bareafter the harvest, stretched as far as the eye could see. "What despair! What death all round!" he repeated, striding on andon. He was saved by meeting an old merchant who was being drivenacross country in a hired trap. When he overtook him, Mitya askedthe way and it turned out that the old merchant, too, was going toVolovya. After some discussion Mitya got into the trap. Three hourslater they arrived. At Volovya, Mitya at once ordered posting-horsesto drive to the town, and suddenly realised that he was appallinglyhungry. While the horses were being harnessed, an omelette wasprepared for him. He ate it all in an instant, ate a huge hunk ofbread, ate a sausage, and swallowed three glasses of vodka. Aftereating, his spirits and his heart grew lighter. He flew towards thetown, urged on the driver, and suddenly made a new and "unalterable"plan to procure that "accursed money" before evening. "And to think,only to think that a man's life should be ruined for the sake ofthat paltry three thousand!" he cried, contemptuously. "I'll settle itto-day." And if it had not been for the thought of Grushenka and ofwhat might have happened to her, which never left him, he wouldperhaps have become quite cheerful again.... But the thought of herwas stabbing him to the heart every moment, like a sharp knife. At last they arrived, and Mitya at once ran to Grushenka. Chapter 3 Gold Mines

THIS was the visit of Mitya of which Grushenka had spoken toRakitin with such horror. She was just then expecting the "message,"and was much relieved that Mitya had not been to see her that day orthe day before. She hoped that "please God he won't come till I'm goneaway," and he suddenly burst in on her. The rest we know already. Toget him off her hands she suggested at once that he should walk withher to Samsonov's, where she said she absolutely must go "to settlehis accounts," and when Mitya accompanied her at once, she saidgood-bye to him at the gate, making him promise to come at twelveo'clock to take her home again. Mitya, too, was delighted at thisarrangement. If she was sitting at Samsonov's she could not be goingto Fyodor Pavlovitch's, "if only she's not lying," he added at once.But he thought she was not lying from what he saw. He was that sort of jealous man who, in the absence of the belovedwoman, at once invents all sorts of awful fancies of what may behappening to her, and how she may be betraying him, but, whenshaken, heartbroken, convinced of her faithlessness, he runs back toher, at the first glance at her face, her gay, laughing,affectionate face, he revives at once, lays aside all suspicion andwith joyful shame abuses himself for his jealousy. After leaving Grushenka at the gate he rushed home. Oh, he hadso much still to do that day! But a load had been lifted from hisheart, anyway. "Now I must only make haste and find out from Smerdyakov whetheranything happened there last night, whether, by any chance, she wentto Fyodor Pavlovitch; ough!" floated through his mind. Before he had time to reach his lodging, jealousy had surged upagain in his restless heart. Jealousy! "Othello was not jealous, he was trustful," observedPushkin. And that remark alone is enough to show the deep insight ofour great poet. Othello's soul was shattered and his whole outlookclouded simply because his ideal was destroyed. But Othello did notbegin hiding, spying, peeping. He was trustful, on the contrary. Hehad to be led up, pushed on, excited with great difficulty before hecould entertain the idea of deceit. The truly jealous man is notlike that. It is impossible to picture to oneself the shame andmoral degradation to which the jealous man can descend without a qualmof conscience. And yet it's not as though the jealous were allvulgar and base souls. On the contrary, a man of lofty feelings, whoselove is pure and full of self-sacrifice, may yet hide under tables,bribe the vilest people, and be familiar with the lowest ignominy ofspying and eavesdropping. Othello was incapable of making up his mind to faithlessness-not incapable of forgiving it, but of making up his mind to it- thoughhis soul was as innocent and free from malice as a babe's. It is notso with the really jealous man. It is hard to imagine what somejealous men can make up their mind to and overlook, and what theycan forgive! The jealous are the readiest of all to forgive, and allwomen know it. The jealous man can forgive extraordinarily quickly(though, of course, after a violent scene), and he is able toforgive infidelity almost conclusively proved, the very kisses andembraces he has seen, if only he can somehow be convinced that ithas all been "for the last time," and that his rival will vanishfrom that day forward, will depart to the ends of the earth, or thathe himself will carry her away somewhere, where that dreaded rivalwill not get near her. Of course the reconciliation is only for anhour. For, even if the rival did disappear next day, he would inventanother one and would be jealous of him. And one might wonder whatthere was in a love that had to be so watched over, what a lovecould be worth that needed such strenuous guarding. But that thejealous will never understand. And yet among them are men of noblehearts. It is remarkable, too, that those very men of noble hearts,standing hidden in some cupboard, listening and spying, never feel thestings of conscience at that moment, anyway, though they understandclearly enough with their "noble hearts" the shameful depths towhich they have voluntarily sunk. At the sight of Grushenka, Mitya's jealousy vanished, and, foran instant he became trustful and generous, and positively despisedhimself for his evil feelings. But it only proved that, in his lovefor the woman, there was an element of something far higher than hehimself imagined, that it was not only a sensual passion, not only the"curve of her body," of which he had talked to Alyosha. But, as soonas Grushenka had gone, Mitya began to suspect her of all the lowcunning of faithlessness, and he felt no sting of conscience at it. And so jealousy surged up in him again. He had, in any case, tomake haste. The first thing to be done was to get hold of at least asmall, temporary loan of money. The nine roubles had almost all goneon his expedition. And, as we all know, one can't take a stepwithout money. But he had thought over in the cart where he couldget a loan. He had a brace of fine duelling pistols in a case, whichhe had not pawned till then because he prized them above all hispossessions. In the Metropolis tavern he had some time since madeacquaintance with a young official and had learnt that this veryopulent bachelor was passionately fond of weapons. He used to buypistols, revolvers, daggers, hang them on his wall and show them toacquaintances. He prided himself on them, and was quite a specialiston the mechanism of the revolver. Mitya, without stopping to think,went straight to him, and offered to pawn his pistols to him for tenroubles. The official, delighted, began trying to persuade him to sellthem outright. But Mitya would not consent, so the young man gavehim ten roubles, protesting that nothing would induce him to takeinterest. They parted friends. Mitya was in haste; he rushed towards Fyodor Pavlovitch's by theback way, to his arbour, to get hold of Smerdyakov as soon aspossible. In this way the fact was established that three or fourhours before a certain event, of which I shall speak later on, Mityahad not a farthing, and pawned for ten roubles a possession he valued,though, three hours later, he was in possession of thousands.... But Iam anticipating. From Marya Kondratyevna (the woman living near FyodorPavlovitch's) he learned the very disturbing fact of Smerdyakov'sillness. He heard the story of his fall in the cellar, his fit, thedoctor's visit, Fyodor Pavlovitch's anxiety; he heard with interest,too, that his brother Ivan had set off that morning for Moscow. "Then he must have driven through Volovya before me," thoughtDmitri, but he was terribly distressed about Smerdyakov. "What willhappen now? Who'll keep watch for me? Who'll bring me word?" hethought. He began greedily questioning the women whether they had seenanything the evening before. They quite understood what he wastrying to find out, and completely reassured him. No one had beenthere. Ivan Fyodorovitch had been there that night; everything hadbeen perfectly as usual. Mitya grew thoughtful. He would certainlyhave to keep watch to-day, but where? Here or at Samsonov's gate? Hedecided that he must be on the lookout both here and there, andmeanwhile... meanwhile... The difficulty was that he had to carryout the new plan that he had made on the journey back. He was sureof its success, but he must not delay acting upon it. Mitya resolvedto sacrifice an hour to it: "In an hour I shall know everything, Ishall settle everything, and then, then, then, first of all toSamsonov's. I'll inquire whether Grushenka's there and instantly beback here again, stay till eleven, and then to Samsonov's again tobring her home." This was what he decided. He flew home, washed, combed his hair, brushed his clothes,dressed, and went to Madame Hohlakov's. Alas! he had built his hopeson her. He had resolved to borrow three thousand from that lady. Andwhat was more, he felt suddenly convinced that she would not refuse tolend it to him. It may be wondered why, if he felt so certain, hehad not gone to her at first, one of his own sort, so to speak,instead of to Samsonov, a man he did not know, who was not of hisown class, and to whom he hardly knew how to speak. But the fact was that he had never known Madame Hohlakov well, andhad seen nothing of her for the last month, and that he knew she couldnot endure him. She had detested him from the first because he wasengaged to Katerina Ivanovna, while she had, for some reason, suddenlyconceived the desire that Katerina Ivanovna should throw him over, andmarry the "charming, chivalrously refined Ivan, who had such excellentmanners." Mitya's manners she detested. Mitya positively laughed ather, and had once said about her that she was just as lively and ather ease as she was uncultivated. But that morning in the cart abrilliant idea had struck him: "If she is so anxious I should notmarry Katerina Ivanovna" (and he knew she was positively hystericalupon the subject) "why should she refuse me now that three thousand,just to enable me to leave Katya and get away from her for ever. Thesespoilt fine ladies, if they set their hearts on anything, will spareno expense to satisfy their caprice. Besides, she's so rich," Mityaargued. As for his "plan" it was just the same as before; it consistedof the offer of his rights to Tchermashnya- but not with acommercial object, as it had been with Samsonov, not trying toallure the lady with the possibility of making a profit of six orseven thousand- but simply as a security for the debt. As he workedout this new idea, Mitya was enchanted with it, but so it always waswith him in all his undertakings, in all his sudden decisions. He gavehimself up to every new idea with passionate enthusiasm. Yet, whenhe mounted the steps of Madame Hohlakov's house he felt a shiver offear run down his spine. At that moment he saw fully, as amathematical certainty, that this was his last hope, that if thisbroke down, nothing else was left him in the world but to "rob andmurder someone for the three thousand." It was half-past seven when herang at the bell. At first fortune seemed to smile upon him. As soon as he wasannounced he was received with extraordinary rapidity. "As thoughshe were waiting for me," thought Mitya, and as soon as he had beenled to the drawing-room, the lady of the house herself ran in, anddeclared at once that she was expecting him. "I was expecting you! I was expecting you! Though I'd no reason tosuppose you would come to see me, as you will admit yourself. Yet, Idid expect you. You may marvel at my instinct, Dmitri Fyodorovitch,but I was convinced all the morning that you would come." "That is certainly wonderful, madam," observed Mitya, sitting downlimply, "but I have come to you on a matter of great importance.... Ona matter of supreme importance for me, that is, madam... for mealone... and I hasten- " "I know you've come on most important business. DmitriFyodorovitch; it's not a case of presentiment, no reactionaryharking back to the miraculous (have you heard about Father Zossima?).This is a case of mathematics: you couldn't help coming, after allthat has passed with Katerina Ivanovna; you couldn't, you couldn't,that's a mathematical certainty." "The realism of actual life, madam, that's what it is. But allowme to explain-" "Realism indeed, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. I'm all for realism now.I've seen too much of miracles. You've heard that Father Zossima isdead?" "No, madam, it's the first time I've heard of it." Mitya was alittle surprised. The image of Alyosha rose to his mind. "Last night, and only imagine-" "Madam," said Mitya, "I can imagine nothing except that I'm in adesperate position, and that if you don't help me, everything willcome to grief, and I first of all. Excuse me for the triviality of theexpression, but I'm in a fever-" "I know, I know that you're in a fever. You could hardly fail tobe, and whatever you may say to me, I know beforehand. I have longbeen thinking over your destiny, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, I am watchingover it and studying it.... Oh, believe me, I'm an experienceddoctor of the soul, Dmitri Fyodorovitch." "Madam, if you are an experienced doctor, I'm certainly anexperienced patient," said Mitya, with an effort to be polite, "andI feel that if you are watching over my destiny in this way, youwill come to my help in my ruin, and so allow me, at least toexplain to you the plan with which I have ventured to come to you...and what I am hoping of you.... I have come, madam-" "Don't explain it. It's of secondary importance. But as forhelp, you're not the first I have helped, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. Youhave most likely heard of my cousin, Madame Belmesov. Her husbandwas ruined, 'had come to grief,' as you characteristically express it,Dmitri Fyodorovitch. I recommended him to take to horse-breeding,and now he's doing well. Have you any idea of horse-breeding, DmitriFyodorovitch?" "Not the faintest, madam; ah, madam, not the faintest!" criedMitya, in nervous impatience, positively starting from his seat. "Isimply implore you, madam, to listen to me. Only give me two minutesof free speech that I may just explain to you everything, the wholeplan with which I have come. Besides, I am short of time. I'm in afearful hurry," Mitya cried hysterically, feeling that she was justgoing to begin talking again, and hoping to cut her short. "I havecome in despair... in the last gasp of despair, to beg you to lendme the sum of three thousand, a loan, but on safe, most safe security,madam, with the most trustworthy guarantees! Only let me explain-" "You must tell me all that afterwards, afterwards!" MadameHohlakov with a gesture demanded silence in her turn, "and whateveryou may tell me, I know it all beforehand; I've told you so already.You ask for a certain sum, for three thousand, but I can give youmore, immeasurably more; I will save you, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, but youmust listen to me." Mitya started from his seat again. "Madam, will you really be so good!" he cried, with strongfeeling. "Good God, you've saved me! You have saved a man from aviolent death, from a bullet.... My eternal gratitude "I will give youmore, infinitely more than three thousand!" cried Madame Hohlakov,looking with a radiant smile at Mitya's ecstasy. "Infinitely? But I don't need so much. I only need that fatalthree thousand, and on my part I can give security for that sum withinfinite gratitude, and I propose a plan which-" "Enough, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, it's said and done." Madame Hohlakovcut him short, with the modest triumph of beneficence. "I havepromised to save you, and I will save you. I will save you as I didBelmesov. What do you think of the gold mines, Dmitri Fyodorovitch?" "Of the gold mines, madam? I have never thought anything aboutthem." "But I have thought of them for you. Thought of them over and overagain. I have been watching you for the last month. I've watched you ahundred times as you've walked past, saying to myself: That's a man ofenergy who ought to be at the gold mines. I've studied your gait andcome to the conclusion: that's a man who would find gold." "From my gait, madam?" said Mitya, smiling. "Yes, from your gait. You surely don't deny that character canbe told from the gait, Dmitri Fyodorovitch? Science supports the idea.I'm all for science and realism now. After all this business withFather Zossima, which has so upset me, from this very day I'm arealist and I want to devote myself to practical usefulness. I'mcured. 'Enough!' as Turgeney says." "But madam, the three thousand you so generously promised tolend me-" "It is yours, Dmitri Fyodorovitch," Madame Hohlakov cut in atonce. "The money is as good as in your pocket, not three thousand, butthree million, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, in less than no time. I'll makeyou a present of the idea: you shall find gold mines, make millions,return and become a leading man, and wake us up and lead us tobetter things. Are we to leave it all to the Jews? You will foundinstitutions and enterprises of all sorts. You will help the poor, andthey will bless you. This is the age of railways, Dmitri Fyodorovitch.You'll become famous and indispensable to the Department of Finance,which is so badly off at present. The depreciation of the rouble keepsme awake at night, Dmitri Fyodorovitch; people don't know that side ofme-" "Madam, madam! Dmitri interrupted with an uneasy presentiment."I shall indeed, perhaps, follow your advice, your wise advice,madam.... I shall perhaps set off... to the gold mines.... I'll comeand see you again about it... many times, indeed... but now, thatthree thousand you so generously... oh, that would set me free, and ifyou could to-day... you see, I haven't a minute, a minute to loseto-day-" "Enough, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, enough!" Madame Hohlakov interruptedemphatically. "The question is, will you go to the gold mines ornot; have you quite made up your mind? Answer yes or no." "I will go, madam, afterwards.... I'll go where you like... butnow-" "Wait!" cried Madame Hohlakov. And jumping up and running to ahandsome bureau with numerous little drawers, she began pulling outone drawer after another, looking for something with desperate haste. "The three thousand," thought Mitya, his heart almost stopping,"and at the instant... without any papers or formalities... that'sdoing things in gentlemanly style! She's a splendid woman, if only shedidn't talk so much!" "Here!" cried Madame Hohlakov, running back joyfully to Mitya,"here is what I was looking for!" It was a tiny silver ikon on a cord, such as is sometimes wornnext the skin with a cross. "This is from Kiev, Dmitri Fyodorovitch," she went onreverently, "from the relics of the Holy Martyr, Varvara. Let me putit on your neck myself, and with it dedicate you to a new life, to anew career." And she actually put the cord round his neck, and beganarranging it. In extreme embarrassment, Mitya bent down and helpedher, and at last he got it under his neck-tie and collar through hisshirt to his chest. "Now you can set off," Madame Hohlakov pronounced, sitting downtriumphantly in her place again. "Madam, I am so touched. I don't know how to thank you,indeed... for such kindness, but... If only you knew how precious timeis to me.... That sum of money, for which I shall be indebted toyour generosity... Oh, madam, since you are so kind, so touchinglygenerous to me," Mitya exclaimed impulsively, "then let me reveal toyou... though, of course, you've known it a long time... that I lovesomebody here.... I have been false to Katya... Katerina Ivanovna Ishould say.... Oh, I've behaved inhumanly, dishonourably to her, but Ifell in love here with another woman... a woman whom you, madam,perhaps, despise, for you know everything already, but whom I cannotleave on any account, and therefore that three thousand now-" "Leave everything, Dmitri Fyodorovitch," Madame Hohlakovinterrupted in the most decisive tone. "Leave everything, especiallywomen. Gold mines are your goal, and there's no place for women there.Afterwards, when you come back rich and famous, you will find the girlof your heart in the highest society. That will be a modern girl, agirl of education and advanced ideas. By that time the dawning womanquestion will have gained ground, and the new woman will haveappeared." "Madam, that's not the point, not at all.... Mitya clasped hishands in entreaty. "Yes it is, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, just what you need; the verything you're yearning for, though you don't realise it yourself. Iam not at all opposed to the present woman movement, DmitriFyodorovitch. The development of woman, and even the politicalemancipation of woman in the near future- that's my ideal. I've adaughter myself, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, people don't know that side ofme. I wrote a letter to the author, Shtchedrin, on that subject. Hehas taught me so much, so much about the vocation of woman. So lastyear I sent him an anonymous letter of two lines: 'I kiss andembrace you, my teacher, for the modern woman. Persevere.' And Isigned myself, 'A Mother.' I thought of signing myself 'A contemporaryMother,' and hesitated, but I stuck to the simple 'Mother'; there'smore moral beauty in that, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. And the word'contemporary' might have reminded him of The Contemporary- apainful recollection owing to the censorship.... Good Heavens, what isthe matter!" "Madam!" cried Mitya, jumping up at last, clasping his handsbefore her in helpless entreaty. "You will make me weep if you delaywhat you have so generously-" "Oh, do weep, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, do weep! That's a noblefeeling... such a path lies open before you! Tears will ease yourheart, and later on you will return rejoicing. You will hasten to mefrom Siberia on purpose to share your joy with me-" "But allow me, too!" Mitya cried suddenly. "For the last time I entreat you, tell me, can I have the sumyou promised me to-day, if not, when may I come for it?" "What sum, Dmitri Fyodorovitch?" "The three thousand you promised me... that you so generously-" "Three thousand? Roubles? Oh, no, I haven't got three thousand,"Madame Hohlakov announced with serene amazement. Mitya was stupefied. "Why, you said just now you said... you said it was as good asin my hands-" "Oh, no, you misunderstood me, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. In that caseyou misunderstood me. I was talking of the gold mines. It's true Ipromised you more, infinitely more than three thousand, I rememberit all now, but I was referring to the gold mines." "But the money? The three thousand?" Mitya exclaimed, awkwardly. "Oh, if you meant money, I haven't any. I haven't a penny,Dmitri Fyodorovitch. I'm quarrelling with my steward about it, andI've just borrowed five hundred roubles from Miusov, myself. No, no,I've no money. And, do you know, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, if I had, Iwouldn't give it to you. In the first place I never lend money.Lending money means losing friends. And I wouldn't give it to youparticularly. I wouldn't give it you, because I like you and want tosave you, for all you need is the gold mines, the gold mines, the goldmines!" "Oh, the devil!" roared Mitya, and with all his might broughthis fist down on the table. "Aie! Aie!" cried Madame Hohlakov, alarmed, and she flew to theother end of the drawing-room. Mitya spat on the ground, and strode rapidly out of the room,out of the house, into the street, into the darkness! He walked likeone possessed, and beating himself on the breast, on the spot where hehad struck himself two days previously, before Alyosha, the lasttime he saw him in the dark, on the road. What those blows upon hisbreast signified, on that spot, and what he meant by it- that was, forthe time, a secret which was known to no one in the world, and had notbeen told even to Alyosha. But that secret meant for him more thandisgrace; it meant ruin, suicide. So he had determined, if he didnot get hold of the three thousand that would pay his debt to KaterinaIvanovna, and so remove from his breast, from that spot on his breast,the shame he carried upon it, that weighed on his conscience. All thiswill be fully explained to the reader later on, but now that hislast hope had vanished, this man, so strong in appearance, burst outcrying like a little child a few steps from the Hohlakovs' house. Hewalked on, and not knowing what he was doing, wiped away his tearswith his fist. In this way he reached the square, and suddenlybecame aware that he had stumbled against something. He heard apiercing wail from an old woman whom he had almost knocked down. "Good Lord, you've nearly killed me! Why don't you look whereyou're going, scapegrace?" "Why, it's you!" cried Mitya, recognising the old woman in thedark. It was the old servant who waited on Samsonov, whom Mitya hadparticularly noticed the day before. "And who are you, my good sir?" said the old woman in quite adifferent voice. "I don't know you in the dark." "You live at Kuzma Kuzmitch's. You're the servant there?" "Just so, sir, I was only running out to Prohoritch's... But Idon't know you now." "Tell me, my good woman, is Agrafena Alexandrovna there now?" saidMitya, beside himself with suspense. "I saw her to the house some timeago." "She has been there, sir. She stayed a little while, and wentoff again." "What? Went away?" cried Mitya. "When did she go?" "Why, as soon as she came. She only stayed a minute. She only toldKuzma Kuzmitch a tale that made him laugh, and then she ran away." "You're lying, damn you!" roared Mitya. "Aie! Aie!" shrieked the old woman, but Mitya had vanished. He ran with all his might to the house where Grushenka lived. Atthe moment he reached it, Grushenka was on her way to Mokroe. It wasnot more than a quarter of an hour after her departure. Fenya was sitting with her grandmother, the old cook, Matryona, inthe kitchen when "the captain" ran in. Fenya uttered a piercing shriekon seeing him. "You scream?" roared Mitya, "where is she?" But without giving the terror-stricken Fenya time to utter a word,he fell all of a heap at her feet. "Fenya, for Christ's sake, tell me, where is she?" "I don't know. Dmitri Fyodorovitch, my dear, I don't know. You maykill me but I can't tell you." Fenya swore and protested. "You wentout with her yourself not long ago-" "She came back!" "Indeed she didn't. By God I swear she didn't come back." "You're lying!" shouted Mitya. "From your terror I know whereshe is." He rushed away. Fenya in her fright was glad she had got off soeasily. But she knew very well that it was only that he was in suchhaste, or she might not have fared so well. But as he ran, hesurprised both Fenya and old Matryona by an unexpected action. Onthe table stood a brass mortar, with a pestle in it, a small brasspestle, not much more than six inches long. Mitya already had openedthe door with one hand when, with the other, he snatched up thepestle, and thrust it in his side-pocket. "Oh Lord! He's going to murder someone!" cried Fenya, flingingup her hands. Chapter 4 In the Dark

WHERE was he running? "Where could she be except at FyodorPavlovitch's? She must have run straight to him from Samsonov's,that was clear now. The whole intrigue, the whole deceit wasevident."... It all rushed whirling through his mind. He did not runto Marya Kondratyevna's. "There was no need to go there... not theslightest need... he must raise no alarm... they would run and telldirectly.... Marya Kondratyevna was clearly in the plot, Smerdyakovtoo, he too, all had been bought over!" He formed another plan of action: he ran a long way round FyodorPavlovitch's house, crossing the lane, running down Dmitrovsky Street,then over the little bridge, and so came straight to the desertedalley at the back, which was empty and uninhabited, with, on oneside the hurdle fence of a neighbour's kitchen-garden, on the otherthe strong high fence that ran all round Fyodor Pavlovitch's garden.Here he chose a spot, apparently the very place, where according tothe tradition, he knew Lizaveta had once climbed over it: "If shecould climb over it," the thought, God knows why, occurred to him,"surely I can." He did in fact jump up, and instantly contrived tocatch hold of the top of the fence. Then he vigorously pulledhimself up and sat astride on it. Close by, in the garden stood thebathhouse, but from the fence he could see the lighted windows ofthe house too. "Yes, the old man's bedroom is lighted up. She's there! and heleapt from the fence into the garden. Though he knew Grigory was illand very likely Smerdyakov, too, and that there was no one to hearhim, he instinctively hid himself, stood still, and began to listen.But there was dead silence on all sides and, as though of design,complete stillness, not the slightest breath of wind. "And naught but the whispering silence," the line for somereason rose to his mind. "If only no one heard me jump over the fence!I think not." Standing still for a minute, he walked softly over thegrass in the garden, avoiding the trees and shrubs. He walkedslowly, creeping stealthily at every step, listening to his ownfootsteps. It took him five minutes to reach the lighted window. Heremembered that just under the window there were several thick andhigh bushes of elder and whitebeam. The door from the house into thegarden on the left-hand side was shut; he had carefully looked onpurpose to see, in passing. At last he reached the bushes and hidbehind them. He held his breath. "I must wait now," he thought, "toreassure them, in case they heard my footsteps and are listening... ifonly I don't cough or sneeze." He waited two minutes. His heart was beating violently, and, atmoments, he could scarcely breathe. "No, this throbbing at my heartwon't stop," he thought. "I can't wait any longer." He was standingbehind a bush in the shadow. The light of the window fell on the frontpart of the bush. "How red the whitebeam berries are!" he murmured, not knowing why.Softly and noiselessly, step by step, he approached the window, andraised himself on tiptoe. All Fyodor Pavlovitch's bedroom lay openbefore him. It was not a large room, and was divided in two parts by ared screen, "Chinese," as Fyodor Pavlovitch used to call it. Theword "Chinese" flashed into Mitya's mind, "and behind the screen, isGrushenka," thought Mitya. He began watching Fyodor Pavlovitch who waswearing his new striped-silk dressing-gown, which Mitya had neverseen, and a silk cord with tassels round the waist. A clean, dandifiedshirt of fine linen with gold studs peeped out under the collar of thedressing-gown. On his head Fyodor Pavlovitch had the same redbandage which Alyosha had seen. "He has got himself up," thought Mitya. His father was standing near the window, apparently lost inthought. Suddenly he jerked up his head, listened a moment, andhearing nothing went up to the table, poured out half a glass ofbrandy from a decanter and drank it off. Then he uttered a deepsigh, again stood still a moment, walked carelessly up to thelooking-glass on the wall, with his right hand raised the redbandage on his forehead a little, and began examining his bruisesand scars, which had not yet disappeared. "He's alone," thought Mitya, "in all probability he's alone." Fyodor Pavlovitch moved away from the looking-glass, turnedsuddenly to the window and looked out. Mitya instantly slipped awayinto the shadow. "She may be there behind the screen. Perhaps she's asleep by now,"he thought, with a pang at his heart. Fyodor Pavlovitch moved awayfrom the window. "He's looking for her out of the window, so she's notthere. Why should he stare out into the dark? He's wild withimpatience."... Mitya slipped back at once, and fell to gazing in atthe window again. The old man was sitting down at the table,apparently disappointed. At last he put his elbow on the table, andlaid his right cheek against his hand. Mitya watched him eagerly. "He's alone, he's alone!" he repeated again. "If she were here,his face would be different." Strange to say, a queer, irrational vexation rose up in hisheart that she was not here. "It's not that she's not here," heexplained to himself, immediately, "but that I can't tell forcertain whether she is or not." Mitya remembered afterwards that hismind was at that moment exceptionally clear, that he took ineverything to the slightest detail, and missed no point. But a feelingof misery, the misery of uncertainty and indecision, was growing inhis heart with every instant. "Is she here or not?" The angry doubtfilled his heart, and suddenly, making up his mind, he put out hishand and softly knocked on the window frame. He knocked the signal theold man had agreed upon with Smerdyakov, twice slowly and then threetimes more quickly, the signal that meant "Grushenka is here!" The old man started, jerked up his head, and, jumping upquickly, ran to the window. Mitya slipped away into the shadow. FyodorPavlovitch opened the window and thrust his whole head out. "Grushenka, is it you? Is it you?" he said, in a sort of tremblinghalf-whisper. "Where are you, my angel, where are you?" He wasfearfully agitated and breathless. "He's alone," Mitya decided. "Where are you?" cried the old man again; and he thrust his headout farther, thrust it out to the shoulders, gazing in all directions,right and left. "Come here, I've a little present for you. Come,I'll show you..." "He means the three thousand," thought Mitya. "But where are you? Are you at the door? I'll open it directly." And the old man almost climbed out of the window, peering out tothe right, where there was a door into the garden, trying to seeinto the darkness. In another second he would certainly have run outto open the door without waiting for Grushenka's answer. Mitya looked at him from the side without stirring. The oldman's profile that he loathed so, his pendent Adam's apple, his hookednose, his lips that smiled in greedy expectation, were all brightlylighted up by the slanting lamplight falling on the left from theroom. A horrible fury of hatred suddenly surged up in Mitya's heart:"There he was, his rival, the man who had tormented him, had ruinedhis life!" It was a rush of that sudden, furious, revengeful angerof which he had spoken, as though foreseeing it, to Alyosha, four daysago in the arbour, when, in answer to Alyosha's question, "How can yousay you'll kill our father?" "I don't know, I don't know," he had saidthen. "Perhaps I shall not kill him, perhaps I shall. I'm afraid he'llsuddenly be so loathsome to me at that moment. I hate his double chin,his nose, his eyes, his shameless grin. I feel a personal repulsion.That's what I'm afraid of, that's what may be too much for me."...This personal repulsion was growing unendurable. Mitya was besidehimself, he suddenly pulled the brass pestle out of his pocket. "God was watching over me then," Mitya himself said afterwards. Atthat very moment Grigory waked up on his bed of sickness. Earlier inthe evening he had undergone the treatment which Smerdyakov haddescribed to Ivan. He had rubbed himself all over with vodka mixedwith a secret, very strong decoction, had drunk what was left of themixture while his wife repeated a "certain prayer" over him, afterwhich he had gone to bed. Marfa Ignatyevna had tasted the stuff,too, and, being unused to strong drink, slept like the dead beside herhusband. But Grigory waked up in the night, quite suddenly, and, after amoment's reflection, though he immediately felt a sharp pain in hisback, he sat up in bed. Then he deliberated again, got up anddressed hurriedly. Perhaps his conscience was uneasy at the thought ofsleeping while the house was unguarded "in such perilous times."Smerdyakov, exhausted by his fit, lay motionless in the next room.Marfa Ignatyevna did not stir. "The stuff's been too much for thewoman," Grigory thought, glancing at her, and groaning, he went out onthe steps. No doubt he only intended to look out from the steps, forhe was hardly able to walk, the pain in his back and his right leg wasintolerable. But he suddenly remembered that he had not locked thelittle gate into the garden that evening. He was the most punctual andprecise of men, a man who adhered to an unchangeable routine, andhabits that lasted for years. Limping and writhing with pain he wentdown the steps and towards the garden. Yes, the gate stood wideopen. Mechanically he stepped into the garden. Perhaps he fanciedsomething, perhaps caught some sound, and, glancing to the left he sawhis master's window open. No one was looking out of it then. "What's it open for? It's not summer now," thought Grigory, andsuddenly, at that very instant he caught a glimpse of somethingextraordinary before him in the garden. Forty paces in front of hima man seemed to be running in the dark, a sort of shadow was movingvery fast. "Good Lord!" cried Grigory beside himself, and forgetting the painin his back, he hurried to intercept the running figure. He took ashort cut, evidently he knew the garden better; the flying figure wenttowards the bath-house, ran behind it and rushed to the gardenfence. Grigory followed, not losing sight of him, and ran,forgetting everything. He reached the fence at the very moment the manwas climbing over it. Grigory cried out, beside himself, pounced onhim, and clutched his leg in his two hands. Yes, his foreboding had not deceived him. He recognised him; itwas he, the "monster," the "parricide." "Parricide! the old man shouted so that the whole neighbourhoodcould hear, but he had not time to shout more, he fell at once, asthough struck by lightning. Mitya jumped back into the garden and bent over the fallen man. InMitya's hands was a brass pestle, and he flung it mechanically inthe grass. The pestle fell two paces from Grigory, not in the grassbut on the path, in a most conspicuous place. For some seconds heexamined the prostrate figure before him. The old man's head wascovered with blood. Mitya put out his hand and began feeling it. Heremembered afterwards clearly that he had been awfully anxious to makesure whether he had broken the old man's skull, or simply stunnedhim with the pestle. But the blood was flowing horribly; and in amoment Mitya's fingers were drenched with the hot stream. Heremembered taking out of his pocket the clean white handkerchiefwith which he had provided himself for his visit to Madame Hohlakov,and putting it to the old man's head, senselessly trying to wipe theblood from his face and temples. But the handkerchief was instantlysoaked with blood. "Good heavens! What am I doing it for?" thought Mitya, suddenlypulling himself together. "If I have broken his skull, how can Ifind out now? And what difference does it make now?" he added,hopelessly. "If I've killed him, I've killed him.... You've come togrief, old man, so there you must lie!" he said aloud. And suddenlyturning to the fence, he vaulted over it into the lane and fell torunning- the handkerchief soaked with blood he held, crushed up in hisright fist, and as he ran he thrust it into the back pocket of hiscoat. He ran headlong, and the few passers-by who met him in the dark,in the streets, remembered afterwards that they had met a manrunning that night. He flew back again to the widow Morozov's house. Immediately after he had left it that evening, Fenya had rushed tothe chief porter, Nazar Ivanovitch, and besought him, for Christ'ssake, "not to let the captain in again to-day or to-morrow." NazarIvanovitch promised, but went upstairs to his mistress who hadsuddenly sent for him, and meeting his nephew, a boy of twenty, whohad recently come from the country, on the way up told him to take hisplace, but forgot to mention "the captain." Mitya, running up to thegate, knocked. The lad instantly recognised him, for Mitya had morethan once tipped him. Opening the gate at once, he let him in, andhastened to inform him with a good-humoured smile that "AgrafenaAlexandrovna is not at home now, you know." "Where is she then, Prohor?" asked Mitya, stopping short. "She set off this evening, some two hours ago, with Timofey, toMokroe." "What for?" cried Mitya. "That I can't say. To see some officer. Someone invited her andhorses were sent to fetch her." Mitya left him, and ran like a madman to Fenya. Chapter 5 A Sudden Resolution

SHE was sitting in the kitchen with her grandmother; they wereboth just going to bed. Relying on Nazar Ivanovitch, they had notlocked themselves in. Mitya ran in, pounced on Fenya and seized her bythe throat. "Speak at once! Where is she? With whom is she now, at Mokroe?" heroared furiously. Both the women squealed. "Aie! I'll tell you. Aie! Dmitri Fyodorovitch, darling, I'lltell you everything directly, I won't hide anything," gabbled Fenya,frightened to death; "she's gone to Mokroe, to her officer." "What officer?" roared Mitya. "To her officer, the same one she used to know, the one whothrew her over five years ago," cackled Fenya, as fast as she couldspeak. Mitya withdrew the hands with which he was squeezing her throat.He stood facing her, pale as death, unable to utter a word, but hiseyes showed that he realised it all, all, from the first word, andguessed the whole position. Poor Fenya was not in a condition atthat moment to observe whether he understood or not. She remainedsitting on the trunk as she had been when he ran into the room,trembling all over, holding her hands out before her as thoughtrying to defend herself. She seemed to have grown rigid in thatposition. Her wide-opened, scared eyes were fixed immovably uponhim. And to make matters worse, both his hands were smeared withblood. On the way, as he ran, he must have touched his forehead withthem, wiping off the perspiration, so that on his forehead and hisright cheek were bloodstained patches. Fenya was on the verge ofhysterics. The old cook had jumped up and was staring at him like amad woman, almost unconscious with terror. Mitya stood for a moment, then mechanically sank on to a chairnext to Fenya. He sat, not reflecting but, as it were,terror-stricken, benumbed. Yet everything was clear as day: thatofficer, he knew about him, he knew everything perfectly, he had knownit from Grushenka herself, had known that a letter had come from him amonth before. So that for a month, for a whole month, this had beengoing on, a secret from him, till the very arrival of this new man,and he had never thought of him! But how could he, how could he nothave thought of him? Why was it he had forgotten this officer, likethat, forgotten him as soon as he heard of him? That was thequestion that faced him like some monstrous thing. And he looked atthis monstrous thing with horror, growing cold with horror. But suddenly, as gently and mildly as a gentle and affectionatechild, he began speaking to Fenya as though he had utterly forgottenhow he had scared and hurt her just now. He fell to questioningFenya with an extreme preciseness, astonishing in his position, andthough the girl looked wildly at his blood-stained hands, she, too,with wonderful readiness and rapidity, answered every question asthough eager to put the whole truth and nothing but the truth beforehim. Little by little, even with a sort of enjoyment, she beganexplaining every detail, not wanting to torment him, but, as itwere, eager to be of the utmost service to him. She described thewhole of that day, in great detail, the visit of Rakitin andAlyosha, how she, Fenya, had stood on the watch, how the mistresshad set off, and how she had called out of the window to Alyosha togive him, Mitya, her greetings, and to tell him "to remember forever how she had loved him for an hour." Hearing of the message, Mitya suddenly smiled, and there was aflush of colour on his pale cheeks. At the same moment Fenya said tohim, not a bit afraid now to be inquisitive: "Look at your hands, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. They're all over blood! "Yes," answered Mitya mechanically. He looked carelessly at hishands and at once forgot them and Fenya's question. He sank into silence again. Twenty minutes had passed since he hadrun in. His first horror was over, but evidently some new fixeddetermination had taken possession of him. He suddenly stood up,smiling dreamily. "What has happened to you, sir?" said Fenya, pointing to his handsagain. She spoke compassionately, as though she felt very near tohim now in his grief. Mitya looked at his hands again. "That's blood, Fenya," he said, looking at her with a strangeexpression. "That's human blood, and my God! why was it shed? But...Fenya... there's a fence here" (he looked at her as though setting hera riddle), "a high fence, and terrible to look at. But at dawnto-morrow, when the sun rises, Mitya will leap over that fence.... Youdon't understand what fence, Fenya, and, never mind.... You'll hearto-morrow and understand... and now, good-bye. I won't stand in herway. I'll step aside, I know how to step aside. Live, my joy.... Youloved me for an hour, remember Mityenka Karamazov so for ever....She always used to call me Mityenka, do you remember?" And with those words he went suddenly out of the kitchen. Fenyawas almost more frightened at this sudden departure than she hadbeen when he ran in and attacked her. Just ten minutes later Dmitri went in to Pyotr Ilyitch Perhotin,the young official with whom he had pawned his pistols. It was bynow half-past eight, and Pyotr Ilyitch had finished his evening tea,and had just put his coat on again to go to the Metropolis to playbilliards. Mitya caught him coming out. Seeing him with his face all smeared with blood, the young manuttered a cry of surprise. "Good heavens! What is the matter?" "I've come for my pistols," said Mitya, "and brought you themoney. And thanks very much. I'm in a hurry, Pyotr Ilyitch, pleasemake haste." Pyotr Ilyitch grew more and more surprised; he suddenly caughtsight of a bundle of banknotes in Mitya's hand, and what was more,he had walked in holding the notes as no one walks in and no onecarries money: he had them in his right hand, and held themoutstretched as if to show them. Perhotin's servant-boy, who met Mityain the passage, said afterwards that he walked into the passage in thesame way, with the money outstretched in his hand, so he must havebeen carrying them like that even in the streets. They were allrainbow-coloured hundred-rouble notes, and the fingers holding themwere covered with blood. When Pyotr Ilyitch was questioned later on as to the sum of money,he said that it was difficult to judge at a glance, but that itmight have been two thousand, or perhaps three, but it was a big,"fat" bundle. "Dmitri Fyodorovitch," so he testified afterwards,"seemed unlike himself, too; not drunk, but, as it were, exalted, lostto everything, but at the same time, as it were, absorbed, as thoughpondering and searching for something and unable to come to adecision. He was in great haste, answered abruptly and very strangely,and at moments seemed not at all dejected but quite cheerful." "But what is the matter with you? What's wrong?" cried PyotrIlyitch, looking wildly at his guest. "How is it that you're allcovered with blood? Have you had a fall? Look at yourself!" He took him by the elbow and led him to the glass. Seeing his blood-stained face, Mitya started and scowledwrathfully. "Damnation! That's the last straw," he muttered angrily, hurriedlychanging the notes from his right hand to the left, and impulsivelyjerked the handkerchief out of his pocket. But the handkerchief turnedout to be soaked with blood, too (it was the handkerchief he hadused to wipe Grigory's face). There was scarcely a white spot on it,and it had not merely begun to dry, but had stiffened into acrumpled ball and could not be pulled apart. Mitya threw it angrily onthe floor. "Oh, damn it!" he said. "Haven't you a rag of some sort... to wipemy face?" "So you're only stained, not wounded? You'd better wash," saidPyotr Ilyitch. "Here's a wash-stand. I'll pour you out some water." "A wash-stand? That's all right... but where am I to put this?" With the strangest perplexity he indicated his bundle ofhundred-rouble notes, looking inquiringly at Pyotr Ilyitch as thoughit were for him to decide what he, Mitya, was to do with his ownmoney. "In your pocket, or on the table here. They won't be lost." "In my pocket? Yes, in my pocket. All right.... But, I say, that'sall nonsense," he cried, as though suddenly coming out of hisabsorption. "Look here, let's first settle that business of thepistols. Give them back to me. Here's your money... because I am ingreat need of them... and I haven't a minute, a minute to spare." And taking the topmost note from the bundle he held it out toPyotr Ilyitch. "But I shan't have change enough. Haven't you less?" "No," said Mitya, looking again at the bundle, and as though nottrusting his own words he turned over two or three of the topmostones. "No, they're all alike," he added, and again he looked inquiringlyat Pyotr Ilyitch. "How have you grown so rich?" the latter asked. "Wait, I'll sendmy boy to Plotnikov's, they close late- to see if they won't changeit. Here, Misha!" he called into the passage. "To Plotnikov's shop- first-rate!" cried Mitya, as though struckby an idea. "Misha," he turned to the boy as he came in, "look here,run to Plotnikov's and tell them that Dmitri Fyodorovitch sends hisgreetings, and will be there directly.... But listen, listen, tellthem to have champagne, three dozen bottles, ready before I come,and packed as it was to take to Mokroe. I took four dozen with methen," he added (suddenly addressing Pyotr Ilyitch); "they know allabout it, don't you trouble, Misha," he turned again to the boy."Stay, listen; tell them to put in cheese, Strasburg pies, smokedfish, ham, caviare, and everything, everything they've got, up to ahundred roubles, or a hundred and twenty as before.... But wait: don'tlet them forget dessert, sweets, pears, watermelons, two or three orfour- no, one melon's enough, and chocolate, candy, toffee,fondants; in fact, everything I took to Mokroe before, three hundredroubles' worth with the champagne... let it be just the same again.And remember, Misha, if you are called Misha- His name is Misha, isn'tit?" He turned to Pyotr Ilyitch again. "Wait a minute," Pyotr Ilyitch intervened listening and watchinghim uneasily, "you'd better go yourself and tell them. He'll muddleit." "He will, I see he will! Eh, Misha! Why, I was going to kiss youfor the commission.... If you don't make a mistake, there's tenroubles for you, run along, make haste.... Champagne's the chiefthing, let them bring up champagne. And brandy, too, and red and whitewine, and all I had then.... They know what I had then." "But listen!" Pyotr Ilyitch interrupted with some impatience. "Isay, let him simply run and change the money and tell them not toclose, and you go and tell them.... Give him your note. Be off, Misha!Put your best leg forward!" Pyotr Ilyitch seemed to hurry Misha off on purpose, because theboy remained standing with his mouth and eyes wide open, apparentlyunderstanding little of Mitya's orders, gazing up with amazement andterror at his bloodstained face and the trembling blood-stainedfingers that held the notes. "Well, now come and wash," said Pyotr Ilyitch sternly. "Put themoney on the table or else in your pocket.... That's right, comealong. But take off your coat." And beginning to help him off with his coat, he cried out again: "Look, your coat's covered with blood, too!" "That... it's not the coat. It's only a little here on thesleeve.... And that's only here where the handkerchief lay. It musthave soaked through. I must have sat on the handkerchief at Fenya's,and the blood's come through," Mitya explained at once with achild-like unconsciousness that was astounding. Pyotr Ilyitchlistened, frowning. "Well, you must have been up to something; you must have beenfighting with someone," he muttered. They began to wash. Pyotr Ilyitch held the jug and poured outthe water. Mitya, in desperate haste, scarcely soaped his hands(they were trembling, and Pyotr Ilyitch remembered it afterwards). Butthe young official insisted on his soaping them thoroughly and rubbingthem more. He seemed to exercise more and more sway over Mitya, astime went on. It may be noted in passing that he was a young man ofsturdy character. "Look, you haven't got your nails clean. Now rub your face;here, on your temples, by your ear.... Will you go in that shirt?Where are you going? Look, all the cuff of your right sleeve iscovered with blood." "Yes, it's all bloody," observed Mitya, looking at the cuff of hisshirt. "Then change your shirt." "I haven't time. You see I'll..." Mitya went on with the sameconfiding ingenuousness, drying his face and hands on the towel, andputting on his coat. "I'll turn it up at the wrist. It won't be seenunder the coat.... You see!" "Tell me now, what game have you been up to? Have you beenfighting with someone? In the tavern again, as before? Have you beenbeating that captain again?" Pyotr Ilyitch asked him reproachfully."Whom have you been beating now... or killing, perhaps?" "Nonsense!" said Mitya. "Don't worry," said Mitya, and he suddenly laughed. "I smashedan old woman in the market-place just now." "Smashed? An old woman?" "An old man!" cried Mitya, looking Pyotr Ilyitch straight in theface, laughing, and shouting at him as though he were deaf. "Confound it! An old woman, an old man.... Have you killedsomeone?" "We made it up. We had a row- and made it up. In a place I knowof. We parted friends. A fool.... He's forgiven me.... He's sure tohave forgiven me by now... if he had got up, he wouldn't have forgivenme"- Mitya suddenly winked- "only damn him, you know, I say, PyotrIlyitch, damn him! Don't worry about him! I don't want to just now!"Mitya snapped out, resolutely. "Whatever do you want to go picking quarrels with everyone for?...Just as you did with that captain over some nonsense.... You've beenfighting and now you're rushing off on the spree- that's you all over!Three dozen champagne- what do you want all that for?" "Bravo! Now give me the pistols. Upon my honour I've no timenow. I should like to have a chat with you, my dear boy, but I haven'tthe time. And there's no need, it's too late for talking. Where's mymoney? Where have I put it?" he cried, thrusting his hands into hispockets. "You put it on the table... yourself.... Here it is. Had youforgotten? Money's like dirt or water to you, it seems. Here areyour pistols. It's an odd thing, at six o'clock you pledged them forten roubles, and now you've got thousands. Two or three I should say." "Three, you bet," laughed Mitya, stuffing the notes into theside-pocket of his trousers. "You'll lose it like that. Have you found a gold mine?" "The mines? The gold mines?" Mitya shouted at the top of his voiceand went off into a roar of laughter. "Would you like to go to themines, Perhotin? There's a lady here who'll stump up three thousandfor you, if only you'll go. She did it for me, she's so awfully fondof gold mines. Do you know Madame Hohlakov?" "I don't know her, but I've heard of her and seen her. Did shereally give you three thousand? Did she really?" said Pyotr Ilyitch,eyeing him dubiously. "As soon as the sun rises to-morrow, as soon as Phoebus, everyoung, flies upwards, praising and glorifying God, you go to her, thisMadame Hohlakov, and ask her whether she did stump up that threethousand or not. Try and find out." "I don't know on what terms you are... since you say it sopositively, I suppose she did give it to you. You've got the moneyin your hand, but instead of going to Siberia you're spending itall.... Where are you really off to now, eh?" "To Mokroe." "To Mokroe? But it's night!" "Once the lad had all, now the lad has naught," cried Mityasuddenly. "How 'naught'? You say that with all those thousands!" "I'm not talking about thousands. Damn thousands! I'm talking offemale character.

Fickle is the heart of woman Treacherous and full of vice;

I agree with Ulysses. That's what he says." "I don't understand you!" "Am I drunk?" "Not drunk, but worse." "I'm drunk in spirit, Pyotr Ilyitch, drunk in spirit! But that'senough!" "What are you doing, loading the pistol?" "I'm loading the pistol." Unfastening the pistol-case, Mitya actually opened the powderhorn, and carefully sprinkled and rammed in the charge. Then he tookthe bullet and, before inserting it, held it in two fingers in frontof the candle. "Why are you looking at the bullet?" asked Pyotr Ilyitch, watchinghim with uneasy curiosity. "Oh, a fancy. Why, if you meant to put that bullet in yourbrain, would you look at it or not?" "Why look at it?" "It's going into my brain, so it's interesting to look and seewhat it's like. But that's foolishness, a moment's foolishness. Nowthat's done," he added, putting in the bullet and driving it home withthe ramrod. "Pyotr Ilyitch, my dear fellow, that's nonsense, allnonsense, and if only you knew what nonsense! Give me a little pieceof paper now." "Here's some paper." "No, a clean new piece, writing-paper. That's right." And taking a pen from the table, Mitya rapidly wrote two lines,folded the paper in four, and thrust it in his waistcoat pocket. Heput the pistols in the case, locked it up, and kept it in his hand.Then he looked at Pyotr Ilyitch with a slow, thoughtful smile. "Now, let's go." "Where are we going? No, wait a minute.... Are you thinking ofputting that bullet in your brain, perhaps?" Pyotr Ilyitch askeduneasily. "I was fooling about the bullet! I want to live. I love life,You may be sure of that. I love golden-haired Phorbus and his warmlight.... Dear Pyotr Ilyitch, do you know how to step aside?" "What do you mean by 'stepping aside'?" "Making way. Making way for a dear creature, and for one I hate.And to let the one I hate become dear- that's what making way means!And to say to them: God bless you, go your way, pass on, while I-" "While you-?" "That's enough, let's go." "Upon my word. I'll tell someone to prevent your going there,"said Pyotr Ilyitch, looking at him. "What are you going to Mokroe for,now?" "There's a woman there, a woman. That's enough for you. You shutup." "Listen, though you're such a savage I've always liked you.... Ifeel anxious." "Thanks, old fellow. I'm a savage you say. Savages, savages!That's what I am always saying. Savages! Why, here's Misha! I wasforgetting him." Misha ran in, post-haste, with a handful of notes in change, andreported that everyone was in a bustle at the Plotnikovs'; "They'recarrying down the bottles, and the fish, and the tea; it will all beready directly." Mitya seized ten roubles and handed it to PyotrIlyitch, then tossed another ten-rouble note to Misha. "Don't dare to do such a thing!" cried Pyotr Ilyitch. "I won'thave it in my house, it's a bad, demoralising habit. Put your moneyaway. Here, put it here, why waste it? It would come in handyto-morrow, and I dare say you'll be coming to me to borrow ten roublesagain. Why do you keep putting the notes in your side pocket? Ah,you'll lose them!" "I say, my dear fellow, let's go to Mokroe together." "What should I go for?" "I say, let's open a bottle at once, and drink to life! I wantto drink, and especially to drink with you. I've never drunk with you,have I?" "Very well, we can go to the Metropolis. I was just going there." "I haven't time for that. Let's drink at the Plotnikovs', in theback room. Shall I ask you a riddle?" "Ask away." Mitya took the piece of paper out of his waistcoat pocket,unfolded it and showed it. In a large, distinct hand was written: "Ipunish myself for my whole life; my whole life I punish!" "I will certainly speak to someone. I'll go at once," said PyotrIlyitch, after reading the paper. "You won't have time, dear boy, come and have a drink. March!" Plotnikov's shop was at the corner of the street, next door butone to Pyotr Ilyitch's. It was the largest grocery shop in our town,and by no means a bad one, belonging to some rich merchants. They kepteverything that could be got in a Petersburg shop, grocery of allsort, wines "bottled by the brothers Eliseyev," fruits, cigars, tea,coffee, sugar, and so on. There were three shop-assistants and twoerrand boys always employed. Though our part of the country hadgrown poorer, the landowners had gone away, and trade had got worse,yet the grocery stores flourished as before, every year withincreasing prosperity; there were plenty of purchasers for theirgoods. They were awaiting Mitya with impatience in the shop. They hadvivid recollections of how he had bought, three or four weeks ago,wine and goods of all sorts to the value of several hundred roubles,paid for in cash (they would never have let him have anything oncredit, of course). They remembered that then, as now, he had had abundle of hundred-rouble notes in his hand, and had scattered themat random, without bargaining, without reflecting, or caring toreflect what use so much wine and provisions would be to him. Thestory was told all over the town that, driving off then with Grushenkato Mokroe, he had "spent three thousand in one night and the followingday, and had come back from the spree without a penny." He hadpicked up a whole troop of gypsies (encamped in our neighbourhood atthe time), who for two days got money without stint out of him whilehe was drunk, and drank expensive wine without stint. People used totell, laughing at Mitya, how he had given champagne to grimy-handedpeasants, and feasted the village women and girls on sweets andStrasburg pies. Though to laugh at Mitya to his face was rather arisky proceeding, there was much laughter behind his back,especially in the tavern, at his own ingenuous public avowal thatall he had got out of Grushenka by this "escapade" was "permissionto kiss her foot, and that was the utmost she had allowed him." By the time Mitya and Pyotr Ilyitch reached the shop, they found acart with three horses harnessed abreast with bells, and withAndrey, the driver, ready waiting for Mitya at the entrance. In theshop they had almost entirely finished packing one box ofprovisions, and were only waiting for Mitya's arrival to nail itdown and put it in the cart. Pyotr Ilyitch was astounded. "Where did this cart come from in such a hurry?" he asked Mitya. "I met Andrey as I ran to you, and told him to drive straight hereto the shop. There's no time to lose. Last time I drove withTimofey, but Timofey now has gone on before me with the witch. Shallwe be very late, Andrey?" "They'll only get there an hour at most before us, not even thatmaybe. I got Timofey ready to start. I know how he'll go. Their pacewon't be ours, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. How could it be? They won't getthere an hour earlier!" Andrey, a lanky, red-haired, middle-ageddriver, wearing a full-skirted coat, and with a kaftan on his arm,replied warmly. "Fifty roubles for vodka if we're only an hour behind them." "I warrant the time, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. Ech, they won't behalf an hour before us, let alone an hour." Though Mitya bustled about seeing after things, he gave his ordersstrangely, as it were, disconnectedly, and inconsecutively. He began asentence and forgot the end of it. Pyotr Ilyitch found himself obligedto come to the rescue. "Four hundred roubles' worth, not less than four hundredroubles' worth, just as it was then," commanded Mitya. "Four dozenchampagne, not a bottle less." "What do you want with so much? What's it for? Stay!" criedPyotr Ilyitch. "What's this box? What's in it? Surely there isn't fourhundred roubles' worth here?" The officious shopmen began explaining with oily politeness thatthe first box contained only half a dozen bottles of champagne, andonly "the most indispensable articles," such as savouries, sweets,toffee, etc. But the main part of the goods ordered would be packedand sent off, as on the previous occasion, in a special cart also withthree horses travelling at full speed, so that it would arrive notmore than an hour later than Dmitri Fyodorovitch himself. "Not more than an hour! Not more than an hour! And put in moretoffee and fondants. The girls there are so fond of it," Mityainsisted hotly. "The fondants are all right. But what do you want with fourdozen of champagne? One would be enough," said Pyotr Ilyitch, almostangry. He began bargaining, asking for a bill of the goods, andrefused to be satisfied. But he only succeeded in saving a hundredroubles. In the end it was agreed that only three hundred roubles'worth should be sent. "Well, you may go to the devil!" cried Pyotr Ilyitch, on secondthoughts. "What's it to do with me? Throw away your money, sinceit's cost you nothing." "This way, my economist, this way, don't be angry." Mitya drew himinto a room at the back of the shop. "They'll give us a bottle heredirectly. We'll taste it. Ech, Pyotr Ilyitch, come along with me,for you're a nice fellow, the sort I like." Mitya sat down on a wicker chair, before a little table, coveredwith a dirty dinner-napkin. Pyotr Ilyitch sat down opposite, and thechampagne soon appeared, and oysters were suggested to thegentlemen. "First-class oysters, the last lot in." "Hang the oysters. I don't eat them. And we don't needanything," cried Pyotr Ilyitch, almost angrily. "There's no time for oysters," said Mitya. "And I'm not hungry. Doyou know, friend," he said suddenly, with feeling, "I never have likedall this disorder." "Who does like it? Three dozen of champagne for peasants, uponmy word, that's enough to make anyone angry!" "That's not what I mean. I'm talking of a higher order. There's noorder in me, no higher order. But... that's all over. There's noneed to grieve about it. It's too late, damn it! My whole life hasbeen disorder, and one must set it in order. Is that a pun, eh?" "You're raving, not making puns!

"Glory be to God in Heaven, Glory be to God in me. . .

"That verse came from my heart once, it's not a verse, but atear.... I made it myself... not while I was pulling the captain'sbeard, though..." "Why do you bring him in all of a sudden?" "Why do I bring him in? Foolery! All things come to an end; allthings are made equal. That's the long and short of it." "You know, I keep thinking of your pistols." "That's all foolery, too! Drink, and don't be fanciful. I lovelife. I've loved life too much, shamefully much. Enough! Let's drinkto life, dear boy, I propose the toast. Why am I pleased withmyself? I'm a scoundrel, but I'm satisfied with myself. And yet I'mtortured by the thought that I'm a scoundrel, but satisfied withmyself. I bless the creation. I'm ready to bless God and Hiscreation directly, but... I must kill one noxious insect for fear itshould crawl and spoil life for others.... Let us drink to life,dear brother. What can be more precious than life? Nothing! To life,and to one queen of queens!" "Let's drink to life and to your queen, too, if you like." They drank a glass each. Although Mitya was excited and expansive,yet he was melancholy, too. It was as though some heavy,overwhelming anxiety were weighing upon him. "Misha... here's your Misha come! Misha, come here, my boy,drink this glass to Phoebus the golden-haired, of to-morrow morn..." "What are you giving it him for?" cried Pyotr Ilyitch, irritably. "Yes, yes, yes, let me! I want to!" "E- ech!" Misha emptied the glass, bowed, and ran out. "He'll remember it afterwards," Mitya remarked. "Woman, I lovewoman! What is woman? The queen of creation! My heart is sad, my heartis sad, Pyotr Ilyitch. Do you remember Hamlet? 'I am very sorry,good Horatio! Alas, poor Yorick!' Perhaps that's me, Yorick? Yes,I'm Yorick now, and a skull afterwards." Pyotr Ilyitch listened in silence. Mitya, too, was silent for awhile. "What dog's that you've got here?" he asked the shopman, casually,noticing a pretty little lap-dog with dark eyes, sitting in thecorner. "It belongs to Varvara Alexyevna, the mistress," answered theclerk. "She brought it and forgot it here. It must be taken back toher." "I saw one like it... in the regiment... " murmured Mityadreamily, "only that one had its hind leg broken.... By the way, PyotrIlyitch, I wanted to ask you: have you ever stolen anything in yourlife?" "What a question!" "Oh, I didn't mean anything. From somebody's pocket, you know. Idon't mean government money, everyone steals that, and no doubt youdo, too..." "You go to the devil." "I'm talking of other people's money. Stealing straight out of apocket? Out of a purse, eh?" "I stole twenty copecks from my mother when I was nine yearsold. I took it off the table on the sly, and held it tight in myhand." "Well, and what happened?" "Oh, nothing. I kept it three days, then I felt ashamed,confessed, and gave it back." "And what then?" "Naturally I was whipped. But why do you ask? Have you stolensomething?" "I have," said Mitya, winking slyly. "What have you stolen?" inquired Pyotr Ilyitch curiously. "I stole twenty copecks from my mother when I was nine yearsold, and gave it back three days after." As he said this, Mitya suddenly got up. "Dmitri Fyodorovitch, won't you come now?" called Andrey fromthe door of the shop. "Are you ready? We'll come!" Mitya started. "A few more last wordsand- Andrey, a glass of vodka at starting. Give him some brandy aswell! That box" (the one with the pistols) "put under my seat.Good-bye, Pyotr Ilyitch, don't remember evil against me." "But you're coming back to-morrow?" "Will you settle the little bill now?" cried the clerk,springing forward. "Oh yes, the bill. Of course." He pulled the bundle of notes out of his pocket again, pickedout three hundred roubles, threw them on the counter, and ranhurriedly out of the shop. Everyone followed him out, bowing andwishing him good luck. Andrey, coughing from the brandy he had justswallowed, jumped up on the box. But Mitya was only just taking hisseat when suddenly to his surprise he saw Fenya before him. She ran uppanting, clasped her hands before him with a cry, and plumped downat his feet. "Dmitri Fyodorovitch, dear good Dmitri Fyodorovitch, don't harm mymistress. And it was I told you all about it.... And don't murder him,he came first, he's hers! He'll marry Agrafena Alexandrovna now.That's why he's come back from Siberia. Dmitri Fyodorovitch, dear,don't take a fellow creature's life!" "Tut-tut-tut! That's it, is it? So you're off there to maketrouble!" muttered Pyotr Ilyitch. "Now, it's all clear, as clear asdaylight. Dmitri Fyodorovitch, give me your pistols at once if youmean to behave like a man," he shouted aloud to Mitya. "Do you hear,Dmitri?" "The pistols? Wait a bit, brother, I'll throw them into the poolon the road," answered Mitya. "Fenya, get up, don't kneel to me. Mityawon't hurt anyone, the silly fool won't hurt anyone again. But Isay, Fenya," he shouted, after having taken his seat. "I hurt you justnow, so forgive me and have pity on me, forgive a scoundrel.... But itdoesn't matter if you don't. It's all the same now. Now then,Andrey, look alive, fly along full speed!" Andrey whipped up the horses, and the bells began ringing. "Good-bye, Pyotr Ilyitch! My last tear is for you!..." "He's not drunk, but he keeps babbling like a lunatic," PyotrIlyitch thought as he watched him go. He had half a mind to stay andsee the cart packed with the remaining wines and provisions, knowingthat they would deceive and defraud Mitya. But, suddenly feeling vexedwith himself, he turned away with a curse and went to the tavern toplay billiards. "He's a fool, though he's a good fellow," he muttered as hewent. "I've heard of that officer, Grushenka's former flame. Well,if he has turned up.... Ech, those pistols! Damn it all! I'm not hisnurse! Let them do what they like! Besides, it'll all come to nothing.They're a set of brawlers, that's all. They'll drink and fight,fight and make friends again. They are not men who do anything real.What does he mean by 'I'm stepping aside, I'm punishing myself'? It'llcome to nothing! He's shouted such phrases a thousand times, drunk, inthe taverns. But now he's not drunk. 'Drunk in spirit'- they're fondof fine phrases, the villains. Am I his nurse? He must have beenfighting, his face was all over blood. With whom? I shall find outat the Metropolis. And his handkerchief was soaked in blood.... It'sstill lying on my floor.... Hang it!" He reached the tavern in a bad humour and at once made up agame. The game cheered him. He played a second game, and suddenlybegan telling one of his partners that Dmitri Karamazov had come infor some cash again- something like three thousand roubles, and hadgone to Mokroe again to spend it with Grushenka.... This news rousedsingular interest in his listeners. They all spoke of it, notlaughing, but with a strange gravity. They left off playing. "Three thousand? But where can he have got three thousand?" Questions were asked. The story of Madame Hohlakov's present wasreceived with scepticism. "Hasn't he robbed his old father?- that's the question." "Three thousand! There's something odd about it." "He boasted aloud that he would kill his father; we all heard him,here. And it was three thousand he talked about..." Pyotr Ilyitch listened. All at once he became short and dry in hisanswers. He said not a word about the blood on Mitya's face and hands,though he had meant to speak of it at first. They began a third game, and by degrees the talk about Mityadied away. But by the end of the third game, Pyotr Ilyitch felt nomore desire for billiards; he laid down the cue, and without havingsupper as he had intended, he walked out of the tavern. When hereached the market-place he stood still in perplexity, wondering athimself. He realised that what he wanted was to go to FyodorPavlovitch's and find out if anything had happened there. "Onaccount of some stupid nonsense as it's sure to turn out- am I goingto wake up the household and make a scandal? Fooh! damn it, is it mybusiness to look after them?" In a very bad humour he went straight home, and suddenlyremembered Fenya. "Damn it all! I ought to have questioned her justnow," he thought with vexation, "I should have heard everything."And the desire to speak to her, and so find out, became so pressingand importunate that when he was halfway home he turned abruptly andwent towards the house where Grushenka lodged. Going up to the gate heknocked. The sound of the knock in the silence of the night soberedhim and made him feel annoyed. And no one answered him; everyone inthe house was asleep. "And I shall be making a fuss!" he thought, with a feeling ofpositive discomfort. But instead of going away altogether, he fellto knocking again with all his might, filling the street with clamour. "Not coming? Well, I will knock them up, I will!" he muttered ateach knock, fuming at himself, but at the same time he redoubled hisknocks on the gate. Chapter 6 "I Am Coming, Too!"

BUT Dmitri Fyodorovitch was speeding along the road. It was alittle more than twenty versts to Mokroe, but Andrey's three horsesgalloped at such a pace that the distance might be covered in anhour and a quarter. The swift motion revived Mitya. The air wasfresh and cool, there were big stars shining in the sky. It was thevery night, and perhaps the very hour, in which Alyosha fell on theearth, and rapturously swore to love it for ever and ever. All was confusion, confusion in Mitya's soul, but although manythings were goading his heart, at that moment his whole being wasyearning for her, his queen, to whom he was flying to look on herfor the last time. One thing I can say for certain; his heart didnot waver for one instant. I shall perhaps not be believed when Isay that this jealous lover felt not the slightest jealousy of thisnew rival, who seemed to have sprung out of the earth. If any otherhad appeared on the scene, he would have been jealous at once, andwould-perhaps have stained his fierce hands with blood again. But ashe flew through the night, he felt no envy, no hostility even, for theman who had been her first lover.... It is true he had not yet seenhim. "Here there was no room for dispute: it was her right and his;this was her first love which, after five years, she had notforgotten; so she had loved him only for those five years, and I,how do I come in? What right have I? Step aside, Mitya, and makeway! What am I now? Now everything is over apart from the officer evenif he had not appeared, everything would be over..." These words would roughly have expressed his feelings, if he hadbeen capable of reasoning. But he could not reason at that moment. Hispresent plan of action had arisen without reasoning. At Fenya'sfirst words, it had sprung from feeling, and been adopted in aflash, with all its consequences. And yet, in spite of his resolution,there was confusion in his soul, an agonising confusion: hisresolution did not give him peace. There was so much behind thattortured him. And it seemed strange to him, at moments, to thinkthat he had written his own sentence of death with pen and paper: "Ipunish myself," and the paper was lying there in his pocket, ready;the pistol was loaded; he had already resolved how, next morning, hewould meet the first warm ray of "golden-haired Phoebus." And yet he could not be quit of the past, of all that he hadleft behind and that tortured him. He felt that miserably, and thethought of it sank into his heart with despair. There was one momentwhen he felt an impulse to stop Andrey, to jump out of the cart, topull out his loaded pistol, and to make an end of everything withoutwaiting for the dawn. But that moment flew by like a spark. The horsesgalloped on, "devouring space," and as he drew near his goal, againthe thought of her, of her alone, took more and more completepossession of his soul, chasing away the fearful images that hadbeen haunting it. Oh, how he longed to look upon her, if only for amoment, if only from a distance! "She's now with him," he thought, "now I shall see what shelooks like with him, her first love, and that's all I want." Never hadthis woman, who was such a fateful influence in his life, aroused suchlove in his breast, such new and unknown feeling, surprising even tohimself, a feeling tender to devoutness, to self-effacement beforeher! "I will efface myself!" he said, in a rush of almost hystericalecstasy. They had been galloping nearly an hour. Mitya was silent, andthough Andrey was, as a rule, a talkative peasant, he did not uttera word, either. He seemed afraid to talk, he only whipped up smartlyhis three lean, but mettlesome, bay horses. Suddenly Mitya cried outin horrible anxiety: "Andrey! What if they're asleep?" This thought fell upon him like a blow. It had not occurred to himbefore. "It may well be that they're gone to bed by now, DmitriFyodorovitch." Mitya frowned as though in pain. Yes, indeed... he was rushingthere... with such feelings... while they were asleep... she wasasleep, perhaps, there too.... An angry feeling surged up in hisheart. "Drive on, Andrey! Whip them up! Look alive!" he cried, besidehimself. "But maybe they're not in bed!" Andrey went on after a pause."Timofey said they were a lot of them there-." "At the station?" "Not at the posting-station, but at Plastunov's, at the inn, wherethey let out horses, too." "I know. So you say there are a lot of them? How's that? Who arethey?" cried Mitya, greatly dismayed at this unexpected news. "Well, Timofey was saying they're all gentlefolk. Two from ourtown- who they are I can't say- and there are two others, strangers,maybe more besides. I didn't ask particularly. They've set toplaying cards, so Timofey said." "Cards?" "So, maybe they're not in bed if they're at cards. It's mostlikely not more than eleven." "Quicker, Andrey! Quicker!" Mitya cried again, nervously. "May I ask you something, sir?" said Andrey, after a pause."Only I'm afraid of angering you, sir." "What is it?" "Why, Fenya threw herself at your feet just now, and begged younot to harm her mistress, and someone else, too... so you see, sir-It's I am taking you there... forgive me, sir, it's my conscience...maybe it's stupid of me to speak of it-." Mitya suddenly seized him by the shoulders from behind. "Are you a driver?" he asked frantically. "Yes sir." "Then you know that one has to make way. What would you say to adriver who wouldn't make way for anyone, but would just drive on andcrush people? No, a driver mustn't run over people. One can't run overa man. One can't spoil people's lives. And if you have spoilt alife- punish yourself.... If only you've spoilt, if only you've ruinedanyone's life- punish yourself and go away." These phrases burst from Mitya almost hysterically. ThoughAndrey was surprised at him, he kept up the conversation. "That's right, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, you're quite right, onemustn't crush or torment a man, or any kind of creature, for everycreature is created by God. Take a horse, for instance, for somefolks, even among us drivers, drive anyhow. Nothing will restrainthem, they just force it along." "To hell?" Mitya interrupted, and went off into his abrupt,short laugh. "Andrey, simple soul," he seized him by the shouldersagain, "tell me, will Dmitri Fyodorovitch Karamazov go to hell, ornot, what do you think?" "I don't know, darling, it depends on you, for you are... you see,sir, when the Son of God was nailed on the Cross and died, He wentstraight down to hell from the Cross, and set free all sinners thatwere in agony. And the devil groaned, because he thought that he wouldget no more sinners in hell. And God said to him, then, 'Don'tgroan, for you shall have all the mighty of the earth, the rulers, thechief judges, and the rich men, and shall be filled up as you havebeen in all the ages till I come again.' Those were His very words..." "A peasant legend! Capital! Whip up the left, Andrey!" "So you see, sir, who it is hell's for," said Andrey, whippingup the left horse, "but you're like a little child... that's how welook on you... and though you're hasty-tempered, sir, yet God willforgive you for your kind heart." "And you, do you forgive me, Andrey?" "What should I forgive you for, sir? You've never done me anyharm." "No, for everyone, for everyone, you here alone, on the road, willyou forgive me for everyone? Speak, simple peasant heart!" "Oh, sir! I feel afraid of driving you, your talk is so strange." But Mitya did not hear. He was frantically praying and mutteringto himself. "Lord, receive me, with all my lawlessness, and do not condemn me.Let me pass by Thy judgment... do not condemn me, for I have condemnedmyself, do not condemn me, for I love Thee, O Lord. I am a wretch, butI love Thee. If Thou sendest me to hell, I shall love Thee there,and from there I shall cry out that I love Thee for ever andever.... But let me love to the end.... Here and now for just fivehours... till the first light of Thy day... for I love the queen of mysoul... I love her and I cannot help loving her. Thou seest my wholeheart... I shall gallop up, I shall fall before her and say, 'Youare right to pass on and leave me. Farewell and forget yourvictim... never fret yourself about me!'" "Mokroe!" cried Andrey, pointing ahead with his whip. Through the pale darkness of the night loomed a solid black massof buildings, flung down, as it were, in the vast plain. The villageof Mokroe numbered two thousand inhabitants, but at that hour all wereasleep, and only here and there a few lights still twinkled. "Drive on, Andrey, I come!" Mitya exclaimed, feverishly. "They're not asleep," said Andrey again, pointing with his whip tothe Plastunovs' inn, which was at the entrance to the village. The sixwindows, looking on the street, were all brightly lighted up. "They're not asleep," Mitya repeated joyously. "Quicker, Andrey!Gallop! Drive up with a dash! Set the bells ringing! Let all know thatI have come. I'm coming! I'm coming, too!" Andrey lashed his exhausted team into a gallop, drove with adash and pulled up his steaming, panting horses at the high flightof steps. Mitya jumped out of the cart just as the innkeeper, on his wayto bed, peeped out from the steps curious to see who had arrived. "Trifon Borissovitch, is that you?" The innkeeper bent down, looked intently, ran down the steps,and rushed up to the guest with obsequious delight. "Dmitri Fyodorovitch, your honour! Do I see you again?" Trifon Borissovitch was a thick-set, healthy peasant, of middleheight, with a rather fat face. His expression was severe anduncompromising, especially with the peasants of Mokroe, but he had thepower of assuming the most obsequious countenance, when he had aninkling that it was to his interest. He dressed in Russian style, witha shirt buttoning down on one side, and a full-skirted coat. He hadsaved a good sum of money, but was for ever dreaming of improvinghis position. More than half the peasants were in his clutches,everyone in the neighbourhood was in debt to him. From theneighbouring landowners he bought and rented lands which were workedby the peasants, in payment of debts which they could never shake off.He was a widower, with four grown-up daughters. One of them wasalready a widow and lived in the inn with her two children, hisgrandchildren, and worked for him like a charwoman. Another of hisdaughters was married to a petty official, and in one of the roomsof the inn, on the wall could be seen, among the family photographs, aminiature photograph of this official in uniform and officialepaulettes. The two younger daughters used to wear fashionable blue orgreen dresses, fitting tight at the back, and with trains a yard long,on Church holidays or when they went to pay visits. But next morningthey would get up at dawn, as usual, sweep out the rooms with abirch-broom, empty the slops, and clean up after lodgers. In spite of the thousands of roubles he had saved, TrifonBorissovitch was very fond of emptying the pockets of a drunken guest,and remembering that not a month ago he had, in twenty-four hours,made two if not three hundred roubles out of Dmitri, when he hadcome on his escapade with Grushenka, he met him now with eagerwelcome, scenting his prey the moment Mitya drove up to the steps. "Dmitri Fyodorovitch, dear sir, we see you once more!" "Stay, Trifon Borissovitch," began Mitya, "first and foremost,where is she?" "Agrafena Alexandrovna?" The inn-keeper understood at once,looking sharply into Mitya's face. "She's here, too..." "With whom? With whom?" "Some strangers. One is an official gentleman, a Pole, to judgefrom his speech. He sent the horses for her from here; and there'sanother with him, a friend of his, or a fellow traveller, there's notelling. They're dressed like civilians." "Well, are they feasting? Have they money?" "Poor sort of a feast! Nothing to boast of, Dmitri Fyodorovitch." "Nothing to boast of? And who are the others?" "They're two gentlemen from the town.... They've come back fromTcherny, and are putting up here. One's quite a young gentleman, arelative of Mr. Miusov he must be, but I've forgotten his name...and I expect you know the other, too, a gentleman called Maximov. He'sbeen on a pilgrimage, so he says, to the monastery in the town. He'stravelling with this young relation of Mr. Miusov." "Is that all?" "Stay, listen, Trifon Borissovitch. Tell me the chief thing:What of her? How is she?" "Oh, she's only just come. She's sitting with them." "Is she cheerful? Is she laughing?" "No, I think she's not laughing much. She's sitting quite dull.She's combing the young gentleman's hair." "The Pole- the officer?" "He's not young, and he's not an officer, either. Not him, sir.It's the young gentleman that's Mr. Miusov's relation. I'veforgotten his name." "Kalganov?" "That's it, Kalganov!" "All right. I'll see for myself. Are they playing cards?" "They have been playing, but they've left off. They've beendrinking tea, the official gentleman asked for liqueurs." "Stay, Trifon Borissovitch, stay, my good soul, I'll see formyself. Now answer one more question: are the gypsies here?" "You can't have the gypsies now, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. Theauthorities have sent them away. But we've Jews that play thecymbals and the fiddle in the village, so one might send for them.They'd come." "Send for them. Certainly send for them!" cried Mitya. "And youcan get the girls together as you did then, Marya especially,Stepanida, too, and Arina. Two hundred roubles for a chorus!" "Oh, for a sum like that I can get all the village together,though by now they're asleep. Are the peasants here worth suchkindness, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, or the girls either? To spend a sumlike that on such coarseness and rudeness! What's the good of giving apeasant a cigar to smoke, the stinking ruffian! And the girls areall lousy. Besides, I'll get my daughters up for nothing, let alonea sum like that. They've only just gone to bed, I'll give them akick and set them singing for you. You gave the peasants champagneto drink the other day, e-ech!" For all his pretended compassion for Mitya, Trifon Borissovitchhad hidden half a dozen bottles of champagne on that last occasion,and had picked up a hundred-rouble note under the table, and it hadremained in his clutches. "Trifon Borissovitch, I sent more than one thousand flying lasttime I was here. Do you remember?" "You did send it flying. I may well remember. You must have leftthree thousand behind you." "Well, I've come to do the same again, do you see?" And he pulled out his roll of notes, and held them up before theinnkeeper's nose. Now, listen and remember. In an hour's time the wine willarrive, savouries, pies, and sweets- bring them all up at once. Thatbox Andrey has got is to be brought up at once, too. Open it, and handchampagne immediately. And the girls, we must have the girls, Maryaespecially." He turned to the cart and pulled out the box of pistols. "Here, Andrey, let's settle. Here's fifteen roubles for the drive,and fifty for vodka... for your readiness, for your love....Remember Karamazov!" "I'm afraid, sir," Andrey. "Give me five roubles extra, but more Iwon't take. Trifon Borissovitch, bear witness. Forgive my foolishwords..." "What are you afraid of?" asked Mitya, scanning him. "Well, goto the devil, if that's it?" he cried, flinging him five roubles."Now, Trifon Borissovitch, take me up quietly and let me first get alook at them, so that they don't see me. Where are they? In the blueroom?" Trifon Borissovitch looked apprehensively at Mitya, but at onceobediently did his bidding. Leading him into the passage, he wenthimself into the first large room, adjoining that in which thevisitors were sitting, and took the light away. Then he stealthily ledMitya in, and put him in a corner in the dark, whence he couldfreely watch the company without being seen. But Mitya did not looklong, and, indeed, he could not see them; he saw her, his heartthrobbed violently, and all was dark before his eyes. She was sitting sideways to the table in a low chair, and besideher, on the sofa, was the pretty youth, Kalganov. She was holdinghis hand and seemed to be laughing, while he, seeming vexed and notlooking at her, was saying something in a loud voice to Maximov, whosat the other side of the table, facing Grushenka. Maximov waslaughing violently at something. On the sofa sat he, and on a chair bythe sofa there was another stranger. The one on the sofa was lollingbackwards, smoking a pipe, and Mitya had an impression of astoutish, broad-faced, short little man, who was apparently angryabout something. His friend, the other stranger, struck Mitya asextraordinarily tall, but he could make out nothing more. He caughthis breath. He could not bear it for a minute, he put thepistol-case on a chest, and with a throbbing heart he walked,feeling cold all over, straight into the blue room to face thecompany. "Aie!" shrieked Grushenka, the first to notice him. Chapter 7 The First and Rightful Lover

WITH his long, rapid strides, Mitya walked straight up to thetable. "Gentlemen," he said in a loud voice, almost shouting, yetstammering at every word, "I... I'm all right! Don't be afraid!" heexclaimed, "I- there's nothing the matter," he turned suddenly toGrushenka, who had shrunk back in her chair towards Kalganov, andclasped his hand tightly. "I... I'm coming, too. I'm here tillmorning. Gentlemen, may I stay with you till morning? Only tillmorning, for the last time, in this same room?" So he finished, turning to the fat little man, with the pipe,sitting on the sofa. The latter removed his pipe from his lips withdignity and observed severely: "Panie,* we're here in private. There are other rooms."

"Why, it's you, Dmitri Fyodorovitch! What do you mean?" answeredKalgonov suddenly. "Sit down with us. How are you?" "Delighted to see you, dear... and precious fellow, I alwaysthought a lot of you." Mitya responded, joyfully and eagerly, atonce holding out his hand across the table. "Aie! How tight you squeeze! You've quite broken my fingers,"laughed Kalganov. "He always squeezes like that, always," Grushenka put in gaily,with a timid smile, seeming suddenly convinced from Mitya's facethat he was not going to make a scene. She was watching him withintense curiosity and still some uneasiness. She was impressed bysomething about him, and indeed the last thing she expected of him wasthat he would come in and speak like this at such a moment. "Good evening," Maximov ventured blandly on the left. Mitya rushedup to him, too. "Good evening. You're here, too! How glad I am to find you here,too! Gentlemen, gentlemen, I- " (He addressed the Polish gentlemanwith the pipe again, evidently taking him for the most importantperson present.) "I flew here.... I wanted to spend my last day, mylast hour in this room, in this very room ... where I, too,adored... my queen.... Forgive me, Panie," he cried wildly, "I flewhere and vowed- Oh, don't be afraid, it's my last night! Let's drinkto our good understanding. They'll bring the wine at once.... Ibrought this with me." (Something made him pull out his bundle ofnotes.) "Allow me, panie! I want to have music, singing, a revel, aswe had before. But the worm, the unnecessary worm, will crawl away,and there'll be no more of him. I will commemorate my day of joy on mylast night." He was almost choking. There was so much, so much he wanted tosay, but strange exclamations were all that came from his lips. ThePole gazed fixedly at him, at the bundle of notes in his hand;looked at Grushenka, and was in evident perplexity. "If my suverin lady is permitting- " he was beginning. "What does 'suverin' mean? 'Sovereign,' I suppose?" interruptedGrushenka. "I can't help laughing at you, the way you talk. Sitdown, Mitya, what are you talking about? Don't frighten us, please.You won't frighten us, will you? If you won't, I am glad to seeyou..." "Me, me frighten you?" cried Mitya, flinging up his hands. "Oh,pass me by, go your way, I won't hinder you!..." And suddenly he surprised them all, and no doubt himself aswell, by flinging himself on a chair, and bursting into tears, turninghis head away to the opposite wall, while his arms clasped the back ofthe chair tight, as though embracing it. "Come, come, what a fellow you are!" cried Grushenkareproachfully. "That's just how he comes to see me- he begins talking,and I can't make out what he means. He cried like that once before,and now he's crying again! It's shamefull Why are you crying? Asthough you had anything to cry for!" she added enigmatically,emphasising each word with some irritability. "I... I'm not crying.... Well, good evening!" He instantlyturned round in his chair, and suddenly laughed, not his abrupt woodenlaugh, but a long, quivering, inaudible nervous laugh. "Well, there you are again.... Come, cheer up, cheer up!"Grushenka said to him persuasively. "I'm very glad you've come, veryglad, Mitya, do you hear, I'm very glad! I want him to stay herewith us," she said peremptorily, addressing the whole company,though her words were obviously meant for the man sitting on the sofa."I wish it, I wish it! And if he goes away I shall go, too!" she addedwith flashing eyes. "What my queen commands is law!" pronounced the Pole, gallantlykissing Grushenka's hand. "I beg you, panie, to join our company,"he added politely, addressing Mitya. Mitya was jumping up with the obvious intention of deliveringanother tirade, but the words did not come. "Let's drink, Panie," he blurted out instead of making a speech.Everyone laughed. "Good heavens! I thought he was going to begin again!" Grushenkaexclaimed nervously. "Do you hear, Mitya," she went on insistently,"don't prance about, but it's nice you've brought the champagne. Iwant some myself, and I can't bear liqueurs. And best of all, you'vecome yourself. We were fearfully dull here.... You've come for a spreeagain, I suppose? But put your money in your pocket. Where did you getsuch a lot?" Mitya had been, all this time, holding in his hand the crumpledbundle of notes on which the eyes of all, especially of the Poles,were fixed. In confusion he thrust them hurriedly into his pocket.He flushed. At that moment the innkeeper brought in an uncorked bottleof champagne, and glasses on a tray. Mitya snatched up the bottle, buthe was so bewildered that he did not know what to do with it. Kalgonovtook it from him and poured out the champagne. "Another! Another bottle!" Mitya cried to the inn-keeper, and,forgetting to clink glasses with the Pole whom he had so solemnlyinvited to drink to their good understanding, he drank off his glasswithout waiting for anyone else. His whole countenance suddenlychanged. The solemn and tragic expression with which he had enteredvanished completely, and a look of something childlike came into hisface. He seemed to have become suddenly gentle and subdued. Helooked shyly and happily at everyone, with a continual nervouslittle laugh, and the blissful expression of a dog who has done wrong,been punished, and forgiven. He seemed to have forgotten everything,and was looking round at everyone with a childlike smile of delight.He looked at Grushenka, laughing continually, and bringing his chairclose up to her. By degrees he had gained some idea of the twoPoles, though he had formed no definite conception of them yet. The Pole on the sofa struck him by his dignified demeanour and hisPolish accent; and, above all, by his pipe. "Well, what of it? It'sa good thing he's smoking a pipe," he reflected. The Pole's puffy,middle-aged face, with its tiny nose and two very thin, pointed,dyed and impudent-looking moustaches, had not so far roused thefaintest doubts in Mitya. He was not even particularly struck by thePole's absurd wig made in Siberia, with love-locks foolishly combedforward over the temples. "I suppose it's all right since he wears awig," he went on, musing blissfully. The other, younger Pole, whowas staring insolently and defiantly at the company and listening tothe conversation with silent contempt, still only impressed Mitya byhis great height, which was in striking contrast to the Pole on thesofa. "If he stood up he'd be six foot three." The thought flittedthrough Mitya's mind. It occurred to him, too, that this Pole mustbe the friend of the other, as it were, a "bodyguard," and no doubtthe big Pole was at the disposal of the little Pole with the pipe. Butthis all seemed to Mitya perfectly right and not to be questioned.In his mood of doglike submissiveness all feeling of rivalry haddied away. Grushenka's mood and the enigmatic tone of some of her words hecompletely failed to grasp. All he understood, with thrilling heart,was that she was kind to him, that she had forgiven him, and madehim sit by her. He was beside himself with delight, watching her sipher glass of champagne. The silence of the company seemed somehow tostrike him, however, and he looked round at everyone with expectanteyes. "Why are we sitting here though, gentlemen? Why don't you begindoing something?" his smiling eyes seemed to ask. "He keeps talking nonsense, and we were all laughing," Kalgonovbegan suddenly, as though divining his thought, and pointing toMaximov. Mitya immediately stared at Kalgonov and then at Maximov "He's talking nonsense?" he laughed, his short, wooden laugh,seeming suddenly delighted at something- "ha ha!" "Yes. Would you believe it, he will have it that all our cavalryofficers in the twenties married Polish women. That's awful rot, isn'tit?" "Polish women?" repeated Mitya, perfectly ecstatic. Kalgonov was well aware of Mitya's attitude to Grushenka, and heguessed about the Pole, too, but that did not so much interest him,perhaps did not interest him at all; what he was interested in wasMaximov. He had come here with Maximov by chance, and he met the Poleshere at the inn for the first time in his life. Grushenka he knewbefore, and had once been with someone to see her; but she had nottaken to him. But here she looked at him very affectionately: beforeMitya's arrival, she had been making much of him, but he seemedsomehow to be unmoved by it. He was a boy, not over twenty, dressedlike a dandy, with a very charming fair-skinned face, and splendidthick, fair hair. From his fair face looked out beautiful pale blueeyes, with an intelligent and sometimes even deep expression, beyondhis age indeed, although the young man sometimes looked and talkedquite like a child, and was not at all ashamed of it, even when he wasaware of it himself. As a rule he was very wilful, even capricious,though always friendly. Sometimes there was something fixed andobstinate in his expression. He would look at you and listen,seeming all the while to be persistently dreaming over something else.Often he was listless and lazy; at other times he would growexcited, sometimes, apparently, over the most trivial matters. "Only imagine, I've been taking him about with me for the lastfour days," he went on, indolently drawling his words, quite naturallythough, without the slightest affectation. "Ever since your brother,do you remember, shoved him off the carriage and sent him flying. Thatmade me take an interest in him at the time, and I took him into thecountry, but he keeps talking such rot I'm ashamed to be with him. I'mtaking him back." "The gentleman has not seen Polish ladies, and says what isimpossible," the Pole with the pipe observed to Maximov. He spoke Russian fairly well, much better, anyway, than hepretended. If he used Russian words, he always distorted them into aPolish form. "But I was married to a Polish lady myself," tittered Maximov. "But did you serve in the cavalry? You were talking about thecavalry. Were you a cavalry officer?" put in Kalgonov at once. "Was he a cavalry officer indeed? Ha ha!" cried Mitya, listeningeagerly, and turning his inquiring eyes to each as he spoke, as thoughthere were no knowing what he might hear from each. "No, you see," Maximov turned to him. "What I mean is that thosepretty Polish ladies ... when they danced the mazurka with ourUhlans... when one of them dances a mazurka with a Uhlan she jumpson his knee like a kitten... a little white one... and thepan-father and pan-mother look on and allow it... They allow it... andnext day the Uhlan comes and offers her his hand.... That's how itis... offers her his hand, he he!" Maximov ended, tittering. "The pan is a lajdak!"* the tall Pole on the chair growledsuddenly and crossed one leg over the other. Mitya's eye was caught byhis huge greased boot, with its thick, dirty sole. The dress of boththe Poles looked rather greasy.

* Scoundrel.

"Well, now it's lajdak! What's he scolding about?" said Grushenka,suddenly vexed. "Pani Agrippina, what the gentleman saw in Poland were servantgirls, and not ladies of good birth," the Pole with the pipeobserved to Grushenka. "You can reckon on that," the tall Pole snapped contemptuously. "What next! Let him talk! People talk, why hinder them? It makesit cheerful," Grushenka said crossly. "I'm not hindering them, pani," said the Pole in the wig, with along look at Grushenka, and relapsing into dignified silence he suckedhis pipe again. "No, no. The Polish gentleman spoke the truth." Kalgonov gotexcited again, as though it were a question of vast import. "He'snever been in Poland, so how can he talk about it? I suppose youweren't married in Poland, were you?" "No, in the Province of Smolensk. Only, a Uhlan had brought her toRussia before that, my future wife, with her mamma and her aunt, andanother female relation with a grown-up son. He brought her straightfrom Poland and gave her up to me. He was a lieutenant in ourregiment, a very nice young man. At first he meant to marry herhimself. But he didn't marry her, because she turned out to be lame." "So you married a lame woman?" cried Kalganov. "Yes. They both deceived me a little bit at the time, andconcealed it. I thought she was hopping; she kept hopping.... Ithought it was for fun." "So pleased she was going to marry you!" yelled Kalganov, in aringing, childish voice. "Yes, so pleased. But it turned out to be quite a different cause.Afterwards, when we were married, after the wedding, that veryevening, she confessed, and very touchingly asked forgiveness. 'I oncejumped over a puddle when I was a child,' she said, 'and injured myleg.' He he!" Kalgonov went off into the most childish laughter, almostfalling on the sofa. Grushenka, too, laughed. Mitya was at thepinnacle of happiness. "Do you know, that's the truth, he's not lying now," exclaimedKalganov, turning to Mitya; "and do you know, he's been married twice;it's his first wife he's talking about. But his second wife, do youknow, ran away, and is alive now." "Is it possible?" said Mitya, turning quickly to Maximov with anexpression of the utmost astonishment. "Yes. She did run away. I've had that unpleasant experience,"Maximov modestly assented, "with a monsieur. And what was worse, she'dhad all my little property transferred to her beforehand. 'You're aneducated man,' she said to me. 'You can always get your living.' Shesettled my business with that. A venerable bishop once said to me:'One of your wives was lame, but the other was too light-footed.' Hehe! "Listen, listen!" cried Kalganov, bubbling over, "if he'stelling lies- and he often is- he's only doing it to amuse us all.There's no harm in that, is there? You know, I sometimes like him.He's awfully low, but it's natural to him, eh? Don't you think so?Some people are low from self-interest, but he's simply so, fromnature. Only fancy, he claims (he was arguing about it all the wayyesterday) that Gogol wrote Dead Souls about him. Do you remember,there's a landowner called Maximov in it, whom Nozdryov thrashed. Hewas charged, do you remember, 'for inflicting bodily injury withrods on the landowner Maximov in a drunken condition.' Would youbelieve it, he claims that he was that Maximov and that he was beaten!Now can it be so? Tchitchikov made his journey, at the very latest, atthe beginning of the twenties, so that the dates don't fit. Hecouldn't have been thrashed then, he couldn't, could he?" It was diffcult to imagine what Kalgonov was excited about, buthis excitement was genuine. Mitya followed his lead without protest. "Well, but if they did thrash him!" he cried, laughing. "It's not that they thrashed me exactly, but what I mean is- " putin Maximov. "What do you mean? Either they thrashed you or they didn't." "What o'clock is it, panie?" the Pole, with the pipe, asked histall friend, with a bored expression. The other shrugged his shouldersin reply. Neither of them had a watch. "Why not talk? Let other people talk. Mustn't other people talkbecause you're bored?" Grushenka flew at him with evident intention offinding fault. Something seemed for the first time to flash uponMitya's mind. This time the Pole answered with unmistakableirritability. "Pani, I didn't oppose it. I didn't say anything." "All right then. Come, tell us your story," Grushenka cried toMaximov. "Why are you all silent?" "There's nothing to tell, it's all so foolish," answered Maximovat once, with evident satisfaction, mincing a little. "Besides, allthat's by way of allegory in Gogol, for he's made all the names have ameaning. Nozdryov was really called Nosov, and Kuvshinikov had quite adifferent name, he was called Shkvornev. Fenardi really was calledFenardi, only he wasn't an Italian but a Russian, and Mamsel Fenardiwas a pretty girl with her pretty little legs in tights, and she had alittle short skirt with spangles, and she kept turning round andround, only not for four hours but for four minutes only, and shebewitched everyone..." "But what were you beaten for?" cried Kalganov. "For Piron!" answered Maximov. "What Piron?" cried Mitya. "The famous French writer, Piron. We were all drinking then, a bigparty of us, in a tavern at that very fair. They'd invited me, andfirst of all I began quoting epigrams. 'Is that you, Boileau? What afunny get-up!' and Boileau answers that he's going to a masquerade,that is to the baths, he he! And they took it to themselves, so I madehaste to repeat another, very sarcastic, well known to all educatedpeople:

Yes, Sappho and Phaon are we! But one grief is weighing on me. You don't know your way to the sea!

"They were still more offended and began abusing me in the mostunseemly way for it. And as ill-luck would have it, to set thingsright, I began telling a very cultivated anecdote about Piron, howhe was not accepted into the French Academy, and to revenge himselfwrote his own epitaph:

Ci-git Piron qui ne fut rien, Pas meme academicien,*

* Here lies Piron, who was nothing, not even an Academician.

They seized me and thrashed me." "But what for? What for?" "For my education. People can thrash a man for anything,"Maximov concluded, briefly and sententiously. "Eh, that's enough! That's all stupid, I don't want to listen. Ithought it would be amusing," Grushenka cut them short, suddenly. Mitya started, and at once left off laughing. The tall Pole roseupon his feet, and with the haughty air of a man, bored and out of hiselement, began pacing from corner to corner of the room, his handsbehind his back. "Ah, he can't sit still," said Grushenka, looking at himcontemptuously. Mitya began to feel anxious. He noticed besides,that the Pole on the sofa was looking at him with an irritableexpression. "Panie!" cried Mitya, "Let's drink! and the other pan, too! Let usdrink." In a flash he had pulled three glasses towards him, and filledthem with champagne. "To Poland, Panovie, I drink to your Poland!" cried Mitya. "I shall be delighted, panie," said the Pole on the sofa, withdignity and affable condescension, and he took his glass. "And the other pan, what's his name? Drink, most illustrious, takeyour glass!" Mitya urged. "Pan Vrublevsky," put in the Pole on the sofa. Pan Vrublevsky came up to the table, swaying as he walked. "To Poland, Panovie!" cried Mitya, raisin, his glass. "Hurrah!" All three drank. Mitya seized the bottle and again poured outthree glasses. "Now to Russia, Panovie, and let us be brothers!" "Pour out some for us," said Grushenka; "I'll drink to Russia,too!" "So will I," said Kalganov. "And I would, too... to Russia, the old grandmother!" titteredMaximov. "All! All!" cried Mitya. "Trifon Borissovitch, some more bottles!" The other three bottles Mitya had brought with him were put on thetable. Mitya filled the glasses. "To Russia! Hurrah!" he shouted again. All drank the toastexcept the Poles, and Grushenka tossed off her whole glass at once.The Poles did not touch theirs. "How's this, Panovie?" cried Mitya, "won't you drink it?" Pan Vrublevsky took the glass, raised it and said with aresonant voice: "To Russia as she was before 1772." "Come, that's better!" cried the other Pole, and they both emptiedtheir glasses at once. "You're fools, you Panovie," broke suddenly from Mitya. "Panie!" shouted both the Poles, menacingly, setting on Mitya likea couple of cocks. Pan Vrublevsky was specially furious. "Can one help loving one's own country?" he shouted. "Be silent! Don't quarrel! I won't have any quarrelling!" criedGrushenka imperiously, and she stamped her foot on the floor. Her faceglowed, her eyes were shining. The effects of the glass she had justdrunk were apparent. Mitya was terribly alarmed. "Panovie, forgive me! It was my fault, I'm sorry. Vrublevsky,panie Vrublevsky, I'm sorry." "Hold your tongue, you, anyway! Sit down, you stupid!".Grushenka scolded with angry annoyance. Everyone sat down, all were silent, looking at one another. "Gentlemen, I was the cause of it all," Mitya began again,unable to make anything of Grushenka's words. "Come, why are wesitting here? What shall we do... to amuse ourselves again?" "Ach, it's certainly anything but amusing!" Kalgonov mumbledlazily. "Let's play faro again, as we did just now," Maximov titteredsuddenly. "Faro? Splendid!" cried Mitya. "If only the panovie-" "It's lite, panovie," the Pole on the sofa responded, as it wereunwillingly. "That's true," assented Pan Vrublevsky. "Lite? What do you mean by 'lite'?" asked Grushenka. "Late, pani! 'A late hour' I mean," the Pole on the sofaexplained. "It's always late with them. They can never do anything!"Grushenka almost shrieked in her anger. "They're dull themselves, sothey want others to be dull. Before came, Mitya, they were just assilent and kept turning up their noses at me." "My goddess!" cried the Pole on the sofa, "I see you're notwell-disposed to me, that's why I'm gloomy. I'm ready, panie," addedhe, addressing Mitya. "Begin, panie," Mitya assented, pulling his notes out of hispocket, and laying two hundred-rouble notes on the table. "I want tolose a lot to you. Take your cards. Make the bank." "We'll have cards from the landlord, panie," said the little Pole,gravely and emphatically. "That's much the best way," chimed in Pan Vrublevsky. "From the landlord? Very good, I understand, let's get them fromhim. Cards!" Mitya shouted to the landlord. The landlord brought in a new, unopened pack, and informed Mityathat the girls were getting ready, and that the Jews with thecymbals would most likely be here soon; but the cart with theprovisions had not yet arrived. Mitya jumped up from the table and raninto the next room to give orders, but only three girls had arrived,and Marya was not there yet. And he did not know himself what ordersto give and why he had run out. He only told them to take out of thebox the presents for the girls, the sweets, the toffee and thefondants. "And vodka for Andrey, vodka for Andrey!" he cried in haste."I was rude to Andrey!" Suddenly Maximov, who had followed him out, touched him on theshoulder. "Give me five roubles," he whispered to Mitya. "I'll stakesomething at faro, too, he he!" "Capital! Splendid! Take ten, here!" Again he took all the notes out of his pocket and picked out onefor ten roubles. "And if you lose that, come again, come again." "Very good," Maximov whispered joyfully, and he ran back again.Mitya, too, returned, apologising for having kept them waiting. ThePoles had already sat down, and opened the pack. They looked much moreamiable, almost cordial. The Pole on the sofa had lighted another pipeand was preparing to throw. He wore an air of solemnity. "To your places, gentlemen," cried Pan Vrublevsky. "No, I'm not going to play any more," observed Kalganov, "I'velost fifty roubles to them just now." "The pan had no luck, perhaps he'll be lucky this time," thePole on the sofa observed in his direction. "How much in the bank? To correspond?" asked Mitya. "That's according, panie, maybe a hundred, maybe two hundred, asmuch as you will stake." "A million!" laughed Mitya. "The Pan Captain has heard of Pan Podvysotsky, perhaps?" "What Podvysotsky?" "In Warsaw there was a bank and anyone comes and stakes againstit. Podvysotsky comes, sees a thousand gold pieces, stakes against thebank. The banker says, 'Panie Podvysotsky, are you laying down thegold, or must we trust to your honour?' 'To my honour, panie,' saysPodvysotsky. 'So much the better.' The banker throws the dice.Podvysotsky wins. 'Take it, panie,' says the banker, and pulling outthe drawer he gives him a million. 'Take it, panie, this is yourgain.' There was a million in the bank. 'I didn't know that,' saysPodvysotsky. 'Panie Podvysotsky,' said the banker, 'you pledged yourhonour and we pledged ours.' Podvysotsky took the million." "That's not true," said Kalganov. "Panie Kalganov, in gentlemanly society one doesn't say suchthings." "As if a Polish gambler would give away a million!" cried Mitya,but checked himself at once. "Forgive me, panie, it's my faultagain; he would, he would give away a million, for honour, forPolish honour. You see how I talk Polish, ha ha! Here, I stake tenroubles, the knave leads." "And I put a rouble on the queen, the queen of hearts, thepretty little panienotchka* he! he!" laughed Maximov, pulling outhis queen, and, as though trying to conceal it from everyone, he movedright up and crossed himself hurriedly under the table. Mitya won. Therouble won, too.

* Little miss.

"A corner!" cried Mitya. "I'll bet another rouble, a 'single' stake," Maximov mutteredgleefully, hugely delighted at having won a rouble. "Lost!" shouted Mitya. "A 'double' on the seven!" The seven too was trumped. "Stop!" cried Kalganov suddenly. "Double! Double!" Mitya doubled his stakes, and each time hedoubled the stake, the card he doubled was trumped by the Poles. Therouble stakes kept winning. "On the double!" shouted Mitya furiously. "You've lost two hundred, panie. Will you stake anotherhundred?" the Pole on the sofa inquired. "What? Lost two hundred already? Then another two hundred! Alldoubles!" And pulling his money out of his pocket, Mitya was aboutto fling two hundred roubles on the queen, but Kalgonov covered itwith his hand. "That's enough!" he shouted in his ringing voice. "What's the matter?" Mitya stared at him. "That's enough! I don't want you to play anymore. Don't!" "Why?" "Because I don't. Hang it, come away. That's why. I won't letyou go on playing." Mitya gazed at him in astonishment. "Give it up, Mitya. He may be right. You've lost a lot as itis," said Grushenka, with a curious note in her voice. Both thePoles rose from their seats with a deeply offended air. "Are you joking, panie?" said the short man, looking severely atKalganov. "How dare you!" Pan Vrublevsky, too, growled at Kalganov. "Don't dare to shout like that," cried Grushenka. "Ah, youturkey-cocks!" Mitya looked at each of them in turn. But something in Grushenka'sface suddenly struck him, and at the same instant something newflashed into his mind- a strange new thought! "Pani Agrippina," the little Pole was beginning, crimson withanger, when Mitya suddenly went up to him and slapped him on theshoulder. "Most illustrious, two words with you."cried Grushenka. "What do you want?" "In the next room, I've two words to say to you, somethingpleasant, very pleasant. You'll be glad to hear it." The little pan was taken aback and looked apprehensively at Mitya.He agreed at once, however, on condition that Pan Vrublevsky went withthem. "The bodyguard? Let him come, and I want him, too. I must havehim!" cried Mitya. "March, panovie!" "Where are you going?" asked Grushenka, anxiously. "We'll be back in one moment," answered Mitya. There was a sort of boldness, a sudden confidence shining in hiseyes. His face had looked very different when he entered the room anhour before. He led the Poles, not into the large room where the chorus ofgirls was assembling and the table was being laid, but into thebedroom on the right, where the trunks and packages were kept, andthere were two large beds, with pyramids of cotton pillows on each.There was a lighted candle on a small deal table in the corner. Thesmall man and Mitya sat down to this table, facing each other, whilethe huge Vrublevsky stood beside them, his hands behind his back.The Poles looked severe but were evidently inquisitive. "What can I do for you, panie?" lisped the little Pole. "Well, look here, panie, I won't keep you long. There's moneyfor you," he pulled out his notes. "Would you like three thousand?Take it and go your way." The Pole gazed open-eyed at Mitya, with a searching look. "Three thousand, panie?" He exchanged glances with Vrublevsky. "Three, panovie, three! Listen, panie, I see you're a sensibleman. Take three thousand and go to the devil, and Vrublevsky withyou d'you hear? But, at once, this very minute, and for ever. Youunderstand that, panie, for ever. Here's the door, you go out of it.What have you got there, a great-coat, a fur coat? I'll bring it outto you. They'll get the horses out directly, and then-good-bye,panie!" Mitya awaited an answer with assurance. He had no doubts. Anexpression of extraordinary resolution passed over the Pole's face. "And the money, panie?" "The money, panie? Five hundred roubles I'll give you thismoment for the journey, and as a first instalment, and two thousandfive hundred to-morrow, in the town- I swear on my honour, I'll getit, I'll get it at any cost!" cried Mitya. The Poles exchanged glances again. The short man's face lookedmore forbidding. "Seven hundred, seven hundred, not five hundred, at once, thisminute, cash down!" Mitya added, feeling something wrong. "What'sthe matter, panie? Don't you trust me? I can't give you the wholethree thousand straight off. If I give it, you may come back to herto-morrow.... Besides, I haven't the three thousand with me. I'vegot it at home in the town," faltered Mitya, his spirit sinking atevery word he uttered. "Upon my word, the money's there, hidden." In an instant an extraordinary sense of personal dignity showeditself in the little man's face. "What next?" he asked ironically. "For shame!" and he spat onthe floor. Pan Vrublevsky spat too. "You do that, panie," said Mitya, recognising with despair thatall was over, "because you hope to make more out of Grushenka?You're a couple of capons, that's what you are!" "This is a mortal insult!" The little Pole turned as red as acrab, and he went out of the room, briskly, as though unwilling tohear another word. Vrublevsky swung out after him, and Mitya followed,confused and crestfallen. He was afraid of Grushenka, afraid thatthe Pan would at once raise an outcry. And so indeed he did. ThePole walked into the room and threw himself in a theatrical attitudebefore Grushenka. "Pani Agrippina, I have received a mortal insult!" he exclaimed.But Grushenka suddenly lost all patience, as though they had woundedher in the tenderest spot. "Speak Russian! Speak Russian!" she cried, "not another word ofPolish! You used to talk Russian. You can't have forgotten it infive years." She was red with passion. "Pani Agrippina-" "My name's Agrafena, Grushenka, speak Russian or I won't listen!" The Pole gasped with offended dignity, and quickly and pompouslydelivered himself in broken Russian: "Pani Agrafena, I came here to forget the past and forgive it,to forget all that has happened till to-day-" "Forgive? Came here to forgive me?" Grushenka cut him short,jumping up from her seat. "Just so, Pani, I'm not pusillanimous, I'm magnanimous. But Iwas astounded when I saw your lovers. Pan Mitya offered me threethousand, in the other room to depart. I spat in the pan's face." "What? He offered you money for me?" cried Grushenka,hysterically. "Is it true, Mitya? How dare you? Am I for sale?" "Panie, panie!" yelled Mitya, "she's pure and shining, and Ihave never been her lover! That's a lie..." "How dare you defend me to him?" shrieked Grushenka. "It wasn'tvirtue kept me pure, and it wasn't that I was afraid of Kuzma, butthat I might hold up my head when I met him, and tell him he's ascoundrel. And he did actually refuse the money?" "He took it! He took it!" cried Mitya; "only he wanted to getthe whole three thousand at once, and I could only give him sevenhundred straight off." "I see: he heard I had money, and came here to marry me!" "Pani Agrippina!" cried the little Pole. "I'm- a knight, I'm- anobleman, and not a lajdak. I came here to make you my wife and I findyou a different woman, perverse and shameless." "Oh, go back where you came from! I'll tell them to turn you outand you'll be turned out," cried Grushenka, furious. "I've been afool, a fool, to have been miserable these five years! And it wasn'tfor his sake, it was my anger made me miserable. And this isn't heat all! Was he like this? It might be his father! Where did you getyour wig from? He was a falcon, but this is a gander. He used to laughand sing to me.... And I've been crying for five years, damned fool,abject, shameless I was! She sank back in her low chair and hid her face in her hands. Atthat instant the chorus of Mokroe began singing in the room on theleft- a rollicking dance song. "A regular Sodom!" Vrublevsky roared suddenly. "Landlord, send theshameless hussies away!" The landlord, who had been for some time past inquisitivelypeeping in at the door, hearing shouts and guessing that his guestswere quarrelling, at once entered the room. "What are you shouting for? D'you want to split your throat?" hesaid, addressing Vrublevsky, with surprising rudeness. "Animal!" bellowed Pan Vrublevsky. "Animal? And what sort of cards were you playing with just now?I gave you a pack and you hid it. You played with marked cards! Icould send you to Siberia for playing with false cards, d'you knowthat, for it's just the same as false banknotes... And going up to the sofa he thrust his fingers between the sofaback and the cushion, and pulled out an unopened pack of cards. "Here's my pack unopened!" He held it up and showed it to all in the room. "From where Istood I saw him slip my pack away, and put his in place of it-you're a cheat and not a gentleman!" "And I twice saw the pan change a card!" cried Kalganov. "How shameful! How shameful!" exclaimed Grushenka, clasping herhands, and blushing for genuine shame. "Good Lord, he's come to that!" "I thought so, too!" said Mitya. But before he had uttered thewords, Vrublevsky, with a confused and infuriated face, shook his fistat Grushenka, shouting: "You low harlot!" Mitya flew at him at once, clutched him in both hands, liftedhim in the air, and in one instant had carried him into the room onthe right, from which they had just come. "I've laid him on the floor, there," he announced, returning atonce, gasping with excitement. "He's struggling, the scoundrel! But hewon't come back, no fear of that!..." He closed one half of the folding doors, and holding the otherajar called out to the little Pole: "Most illustrious, will you please to retire as well?" "My dear Dmitri Fyodorovitch," said Trifon Borissovitch, "makethem give you back the money you lost. It's as good as stolen fromyou." "I don't want my fifty roubles back," Kalgonov declared suddenly. "I don't want my two hundred, either," cried Mitya, "I wouldn'ttake it for anything! Let him keep it as a consolation." "Bravo, Mitya! You're a trump, Mitya!" cried Grushenka, andthere was a note of fierce anger in the exclamation. The little pan, crimson with fury but still mindful of hisdignity, was making for the door, but he stopped short and saidsuddenly, addressing Grushenka: "Pani, if you want to come with me, come. If not, good-bye." And swelling with indignation and importance he went to thedoor. This was a man of character: he had so good an opinion ofhimself that after all that had passed, he still expected that shewould marry him. Mitya slammed the door after him. "Lock it," said Kalganov. But the key clicked on the other side,they had locked it from within. "That's capital!" exclaimed Grushenka relentlessly. "Serve themright!" Chapter 8 Delirium

WHAT followed was almost an orgy, a feast to which all werewelcome. Grushenka was the first to call for wine. "I want to drink. I want to be quite drunk, as we were before.Do you remember, Mitya, do you remember how we made friends herelast time!" Mitya himself was almost delirious, feeling that his happiness wasat hand. But Grushenka was continually sending him away from her. "Go and enjoy yourself. Tell them to dance, to make merry, 'letthe stove and cottage dance'; as we had it last time," she keptexclaiming. She was tremendously excited. And Mitya hastened to obeyher. The chorus were in the next room. The room in which they had beensitting till that moment was too small, and was divided in two bycotton curtains, behind which was a huge bed with a puffy feathermattress and a pyramid of cotton pillows. In the four rooms forvisitors there were beds. Grushenka settled herself just at thedoor. Mitya set an easy chair for her. She had sat in the same placeto watch the dancing and singing "the time before," when they had mademerry there. All the girls who had come had been there then; theJewish band with fiddles and zithers had come, too, and at last thelong expected cart had arrived with the wines and provisions. Mitya bustled about. All sorts of people began coming into theroom to look on, peasants and their women, who had been roused fromsleep and attracted by the hopes of another marvellous entertainmentsuch as they had enjoyed a month before. Mitya remembered their faces,greeting and embracing everyone he knew. He uncorked bottles andpoured out wine for everyone who presented himself. Only the girlswere very eager for the champagne. The men preferred rum, brandy, and,above all, hot punch. Mitya had chocolate made for all the girls,and ordered that three samovars should be kept boiling all night toprovide tea and punch for everyone to help himself. An absurd chaotic confusion followed, but Mitya was in his naturalelement, and the more foolish it became, the more his spirits rose. Ifthe peasants had asked him for money at that moment, he would havepulled out his notes and given them away right and left. This wasprobably why the landlord, Trifon Borissovitch, kept hovering aboutMitya to protect him. He seemed to have given up all idea of goingto bed that night; but he drank little, only one glass of punch, andkept a sharp look-out on Mitya's interests after his own fashion. Heintervened in the nick of time, civilly and obsequiously persuadingMitya not to give away "cigars and Rhine wine," and, above all,money to the peasants as he had done before. He was very indignant,too, at the peasant girls drinking liqueur, and eating sweets. "They're a lousy lot, Dmitri Fyodorovitch," he said. "I'd givethem a kick, every one of them, and they'd take it as an honour-that's all they're worth!" Mitya remembered Andrey again, and ordered punch to be sent out tohim. "I was rude to him just now," he repeated with a sinking,softened voice. Kalgonov did to drink, and at first did not care forthe girls singing; but after he had drunk a couple of glasses ofchampagne he became extraordinarily lively, strolling about theroom, laughing and praising the music and the songs, admiring everyoneand everything. Maximov, blissfully drunk, never left his side.Grushenka, too, was beginning to get drunk. Pointing to Kalganov,she said to Mitya: "What a dear, charming boy he is!" And Mitya, delighted, ran to kiss Kalgonov and Maximov. Oh,great were his hopes! She had said nothing yet, and seemed, indeed,purposely to refrain from speaking. But she looked at him from time totime with caressing and passionate eyes. At last she suddenlygripped his hand and drew him vigorously to her. She was sitting atthe moment in the low chair by the door. "How was it you came just now, eh? Have you walked in!... I wasfrightened. So you wanted to give me up to him, did you? Did youreally want to?" "I didn't want to spoil your happiness!" Mitya falteredblissfully. But she did not need his answer. "Well, go and enjoy yourself..." she sent him away once more."Don't cry, I'll call you back again." He would run away and she listened to the singing and looked atthe dancing, though her eyes followed him wherever he went. But inanother quarter of an hour she would call him once more and again hewould run back to her. "Come, sit beside me, tell me, how did you hear about me, and mycoming here yesterday? From whom did you first hear it?" And Mitya began telling her all about it, disconnectedly,incoherently, feverishly. He spoke strangely, often frowning, andstopping abruptly. "What are you frowning at?" she asked. "Nothing.... I left a man ill there. I'd give ten years of my lifefor him to get well, to know he was all right!" "Well, never mind him, if he's ill. So you meant to shoot yourselfto-morrow! What a silly boy! What for? I like such reckless fellows asyou," she lisped, with a rather halting tongue. "So you would go anylength for me, eh? Did you really mean to shoot yourself to-morrow,you stupid? No, wait a little. To-morrow I may have something to sayto you.... I won't say it to-day, but to-morrow. You'd like it to beto-day? No, I don't want to to-day. Come, go along now, go and amuseyourself." Once, however, she called him, as it were, puzzled and uneasy. "Why are you sad? I see you're sad.... Yes, I see it," sheadded, looking intently into his eyes. "Though you keep kissing thepeasants and shouting, I see something. No, be merry. I'm merry; yoube merry, too.... I love somebody here. Guess who it is. Ah, look,my boy has fallen asleep, poor dear, he's drunk." She meant Kalganov. He was, in fact, drunk, and had dropped asleepfor a moment, sitting on the sofa. But he was not merely drowsy fromdrink; he felt suddenly dejected, or, as he said, "bored." He wasintensely depressed by the girls' songs, which, as the drinking wenton, gradually became coarse and more reckless. And the dances wereas bad. Two girls dressed up as bears, and a lively girl, calledStepanida, with a stick in her hand, acted the part of keeper, andbegan to "show them." "Look alive, Marya, or you'll get the stick! The bears rolled on the ground at last in the most unseemlyfashion, amid roars of laughter from the closely-packed crowd of menand women. "Well, let them! Let them!" said Grushenka sententiously, withan ecstatic expression on her face. "When they do get a day to enjoythemselves; why shouldn't folks be happy?" Kalgonov looked as though he had been besmirched with dirt. "It's swinish, all this peasant foolery," he murmured, movingaway; "it's the game they play when it's light all night in summer." He particularly disliked one "new" song to a jaunty dance-tune. Itdescribed how a gentleman came and tried his luck with the girls, tosee whether they would love him:

The master came to try the girls: Would they love him, would they not?

But the girls could not love the master:

He would beat me cruelly And such love won't do for me.

Then a gypsy comes along and he, too, tries:

The gypsy came to try the girls: Would they love him, would they not?

But they couldn't love the gypsy either:

He would be a thief, I fear, And would cause me many a tear.

And many more men come to try their luck, among them a soldier:

The soldier came to try the girls: Would they love him, would they not?

But the soldier is rejected with contempt, in two indecentlines, sung with absolute frankness and producing a furore in theaudience. The song ends with a merchant:

The merchant came to try the girls: Would they love him, would they not?

And it appears that he wins their love because:

The merchant will make gold for me And his queen I'll gladly be.

Kalgonov was positively indignant. "That's just a song of yesterday," he said aloud. "Who writes suchthings for them? They might just as well have had a railwayman or aJew come to try his luck with the girls; they'd have carried allbefore them." And, almost as though it were a personal affront, he declared,on the spot, that he was bored, sat down on the sofa and immediatelyfell asleep. His pretty little face looked rather pale, as it fellback on the sofa cushion. "Look how pretty he is," said Grushenka, taking Mitya up to him."I was combing his hair just now; his hair's like flax, and sothick..." And, bending over him tenderly, she kissed his forehead.Kalgonov instantly opened his eyes, looked at her, stood up, andwith the most anxious air inquired where was Maximov? "So that's who it is you want." Grushenka laughed. "Stay with me aminute. Mitya, run and find his Maximov." Maximov, it appeared, could not tear himself away from thegirls, only running away from time to time to pour himself out a glassof liqueur. He had drunk two cups of chocolate. His face was red,and his nose was crimson; his eyes were moist, and mawkishlysweet.He ran up and announced that he was going to dance the"sabotiere." "They taught me all those well-bred, aristocratic dances when Iwas little..." "Go, go with him, Mitya, and I'll watch from here how hedances," said Grushenka. "No, no, I'm coming to look on, too," exclaimed Kalganov, brushingaside in the most naive way Grushenka's offer to sit with him. Theyall went to look on. Maximov danced his dance. But it roused nogreat admiration in anyone but Mitya. It consisted of nothing butskipping and hopping, kicking the feet, and at every skip Maximovslapped the upturned sole of his foot. Kalgonov did not like it atall, but Mitya kissed the dancer. "Thanks. You're tired perhaps? What are you looking for here?Would you like some sweets? A cigar, perhaps?" "A cigarette." "Don't you want a drink?" "I'll just have a liqueur.... Have you any chocolates?" "Yes, there's a heap of them on the table there. Choose one, mydear soul!" "I like one with vanilla... for old people. He he! "No, brother, we've none of that special sort." "I say," the old man bent down to whisper in Mitya's ear. "Thatgirl there, little Marya, he he! How would it be if you were to helpme make friends with her?" "So that's what you're after! No, brother, that won't do!" "I'd do no harm to anyone," Maximov muttered disconsolately. "Oh, all right, all right. They only come here to dance andsing, you know, brother. But damn it all, wait a bit!... Eat and drinkand be merry, meanwhile. Don't you want money?" "Later on, perhaps," smiled Maximov. "All right, all right..." Mitya's head was burning. He went outside to the wooden balconywhich ran round the whole building on the inner side, overlookingthe courtyard. The fresh air revived him. He stood alone in a darkcorner, and suddenly clutched his head in both hands. His scatteredthoughts came together; his sensations blended into a whole andthrew a sudden light into his mind. A fearful and terrible light!"If I'm to shoot myself, why not now?" passed through his mind. "Whynot go for the pistols, bring them here, and here, in this darkdirty corner, make an end?" Almost a minute he undecided. A fewhours earlier, when he had been dashing here, he was pursued bydisgrace, by the theft he had committed, and that blood, thatblood!... But yet it was easier for him then. Then everything wasover: he had lost her, given her up. She was gone, for him- oh, thenhis death sentence had been easier for him; at least it had seemednecessary, inevitable, for what had he to stay on earth for? But now? Was it the same as then? Now one phantom, one terror atleast was at an end: that first, rightful lover, that fateful figurehad vanished, leaving no trace. The terrible phantom had turned intosomething so small, so comic; it had been carried into the bedroom andlocked in. It would never return. She was ashamed, and from her eyeshe could see now whom she loved. Now he had everything to make lifehappy... but he could not go on living, he could not; oh, damnation!"O God! restore to life the man I knocked down at the fence! Letthis fearful cup pass from me! Lord, thou hast wrought miracles forsuch sinners as me! But what, what if the old man's alive? Oh, thenthe shame of the other disgrace I would wipe away. I would restore thestolen money. I'd give it back; I'd get it somehow.... No trace ofthat shame will remain except in my heart for ever! But no, no; oh,impossible cowardly dreams! Oh, damnation!" Yet there was a ray of light and hope in his darkness. He jumpedup and ran back to the room- to her, to her, his queen for ever! Wasnot one moment of her love worth all the rest of life, even in theagonies of disgrace? This wild question clutched at his heart. "Toher, to her alone, to see her, to hear her, to think of nothing, toforget everything, if only for that night, for an hour, for a moment!"Just as he turned from the balcony into the passage, he came uponthe landlord, Trifon Borissovitch. He thought he looked gloomy andworried, and fancied he had come to find him. "What is it, Trifon Borissovitch? Are you looking for me?" "No, sir," The landlord seemed disconcerted. "Why should I belooking for you? Where have you been?" "Why do you look so glum? You're not angry, are you? Wait a bit,you shall soon get to bed.... What's the time?" "It'll be three o'clock. Past three, it must be." "We'll leave off soon. We'll leave off." "Don't mention it; it doesn't matter. Keep it up as long as youlike..." "What's the matter with him?" Mitya wondered for an instant, andhe ran back to the room where the girls were dancing. But she wasnot there. She was not in the blue room either; there was no one butKalgonov asleep on the sofa. Mitya peeped behind the curtain- shewas there. She was sitting in the corner, on a trunk. Bent forward,with her head and arms on the bed close by, she was crying bitterly,doing her utmost to stifle her sobs that she might not be heard.Seeing Mitya, she beckoned him to her, and when he ran to her, shegrasped his hand tightly. "Mitya, Mitya, I loved him, you know. How I have loved him thesefive years, all that time! Did I love him or only my own anger? No,him, him! It's a lie that it was my anger I loved and not him.Mitya, I was only seventeen then; he was so kind to me, so merry; heused to sing to me.... Or so it seemed to a silly girl like me.... Andnow, O Lord, it's not the same man. Even his face is not the same;he's different altogether. I shouldn't have known him. I drove herewith Timofey, and all the way I was thinking how I should meet him,what I should say to him, how we should look at one another. My soulwas faint, and all of a sudden it was just as though he had emptieda pail of dirty water over me. He talked to me like a schoolmaster,all so grave and learned; he met me so solemnly that I was struckdumb. I couldn't get a word in. At first I thought he was ashamed totalk before his great big Pole. I sat staring at him and wondering whyI couldn't say a word to him now. It must have been his wife thatruined him; you know he threw me up to get married. She must havechanged him like that. Mitya, how shameful it is! Oh, Mitya, I'mashamed, I'm ashamed for all my life. Curse it, curse it, cursethose five years!" And again she burst into tears, but clung tight to Mitya's handand did not let it go. "Mitya, darling, stay, don't go away. I want to say one word toyou," she whispered, and suddenly raised her face to him. "Listen,tell me who it is I love? I love one man here. Who is that man? That'swhat you must tell me." A smile lighted up her face that was swollen with weeping, and hereyes shone in the half darkness. "A falcon flew in, and my heart sank. "Fool! that's the man youlove!' That was what my heart whispered to me at once. You came in andall grew bright. What's he afraid of? I wondered. For you werefrightened; you couldn't speak. It's not them he's afraid of- couldyou be frightened of anyone? It's me he's afraid of, I thought, onlyme. So Fenya told you, you little stupid, how I called to Alyoshaout of the window that I'd loved Mityenka for one hour, and that I wasgoing now to love... another. Mitya, Mitya, how could I be such a foolas to think I could love anyone after you? Do you forgive me, Mitya?Do you forgive me or not? Do you love me? Do you love me?" Shejumped up and held him with both hands on his shoulders. Mitya, dumbwith rapture, gazed into her eyes, at her face, at her smile, andsuddenly clasped her tightly his arms and kissed her passionately. "You will forgive me for having tormented you? It was throughspite I tormented you all. It was for spite I drove the old man out ofhis mind.... Do you remember how you drank at my house one day andbroke the wine-glass? I remembered that and I broke a glass to-day anddrank 'to my vile heart.' Mitya, my falcon, why don't you kiss me?He kissed me once, and now he draws back and looks and listens. Whylisten to me? Kiss me, kiss me hard, that's right. if you love,well, then, love! I'll be your slave now, your slave for the rest ofmy life. It's sweet to be a slave. Kiss me! Beat me, ill-treat me,do what you will with me.... And I do deserve to suffer. Stay, wait,afterwards, I won't have that..." she suddenly thrust him away. "Goalong, Mitya, I'll come and have some wine, I want to be drunk, I'mgoing to get drunk and dance; I must, I must!" She tore herself awayfrom him and disappeared behind the curtain. Mitya followed like adrunken man. "Yes, come what may- whatever may happen now, for one minute I'dgive the whole world," he thought. Grushenka did, in fact, toss offa whole glass of champagne at one gulp, and became at once very tipsy.She sat down in the same chair as before, with a blissful smile on herface. Her cheeks were glowing, her lips were burning, her flashingeyes were moist; there was passionate appeal in her eyes. EvenKalgonov felt a stir at the heart and went up to her. "Did you feel how I kissed you when you were asleep just now?" shesaid thickly. "I'm drunk now, that's what it is.... And aren't youdrunk? And why isn't Mitya drinking? Why don't you drink, Mitya? I'mdrunk, and you don't drink..." "I am drunk! I'm drunk as it is... drunk with you... and nowI'll be drunk with wine, too." He drank off another glass, and- he thought it strange himself-that glass made him completely drunk. He was suddenly drunk,although till that moment he had been quite sober, he remembered that.From that moment everything whirled about him, as though he weredelirious. He walked, laughed, talked to everybody, without knowingwhat he was doing. Only one persistent burning sensation made itselffelt continually, "like a red-hot coal in his heart," he saidafterwards. He went up to her, sat beside her, gazed at her,listened to her.... She became very talkative, kept calling everyoneto her, and beckoned to different girls out of the chorus. When thegirl came up, she either kissed her, or made the sign of the crossover her. In another minute she might have cried. She was greatlyamused by the "little old man," as she called Maximov. He ran up everyminute to kiss her hands, each little finger," and finally he dancedanother dance to an old song, which he sang himself. He danced withspecial vigour to the refrain:

"Give him something, Mitya," said Grushenka. "Give him apresent, he's poor, you know. Ah, the poor, the insulted!... Do youknow, Mitya, I shall go into a nunnery. No, I really shall one day.Alyosha said something to me to-day that I shall remember all mylife.... Yes.... But to-day let us dance. To-morrow to the nunnery,but to-day we'll dance. I want to play to-day, good people, and whatof it? God will forgive us. If I were God, I'd forgive everyone: 'Mydear sinners, from this day forth I forgive you.' I'm going to begforgiveness: 'Forgive me, good people, a silly wench.' I'm a beast,that's what I am. But I want to pray. I gave a little onion. Wicked asI've been, I want to pray. Mitya, let them dance, don't stop them.Everyone in the world is good. Everyone- even the worst of them. Theworld's a nice place. Though we're bad the world's all right. We'regood and bad, good and bad.... Come, tell me, I've something to askyou: come here everyone, and I'll ask you: Why am I so good? Youknow I am good. I'm very good.... Come, why am I so good?" So Grushenka babbled on, getting more and more drunk. At lastshe announced that she was going to dance, too. She got up from herchair, staggering. "Mitya, don't give me any more wine- if I askyou, don't give it to me. Wine doesn't give peace. Everything'sgoing round, the stove, and everything. I want to dance. Leteveryone see how I dance... let them see how beautifully I dance..." She really meant it. She pulled a white cambric handkerchief outof her pocket, and took it by one corner in her right hand, to wave itin the dance. Mitya ran to and fro, the girls were quiet, and gotready to break into a dancing song at the first signal. Maximov,hearing that Grushenka wanted to dance, squealed with delight, and ranskipping about in front of her, humming:

With legs so slim and sides so trim And its little tail curled tight.

But Grushenka waved her handkerchief at him and drove him away. "Sh-h! Mitya, why don't they come? Let everyone come... to lookon. Call them in, too, that were locked in.... Why did you lock themin? Tell them I'm going to dance. Let them look on, too..." Mitya walked with a drunken swagger to the locked door, andbegan knocking to the Poles with his fist. "Hi, you... Podvysotskis! Come, she's going to dance. She callsyou." "Lajdak!" one of the Poles shouted in reply. "You're a lajdak yourself! You're a little scoundrel, that'swhat you are." "Leave off laughing at Poland," said Kalganov sententiously. Hetoo was drunk. "Be quiet, boy! If I call him a scoundrel, it doesn't mean thatI called all Poland so. One lajdak doesn't make a Poland. Be quiet, mypretty boy, eat a sweetmeat." "Ach, what fellows! As though they were not men. Why won't theymake friends?" said Grushenka, and went forward to dance. The chorusbroke into "Ah, my porch, my new porch!" Grushenka flung back herhead, half opened her lips, smiled, waved her handkerchief, andsuddenly, with a violent lurch, stood still in the middle of the room,looking bewildered. "I'm weak..." she said in an exhausted voice. "Forgive me....I'm weak, I can't.... I'm sorry." She bowed to the chorus, and then began bowing in all directions. "I'm sorry.... Forgive me..." "The lady's been drinking. The pretty lady has been drinking,"voices were heard saying. "The lady's drunk too much," Maximov explained to the girls,giggling. "Mitya, lead me away... take me," said Grushenka helplessly. Mityapounced on her, snatched her up in his arms, and carried theprecious burden through the curtains. "Well, now I'll go," thought Kalganov, and walking out of the blueroom, he closed the two halves of the door after him. But the orgyin the larger room went on and grew louder and louder. Mitya laidGrushenka on the bed and kissed her on the lips. "Don't touch me..." she faltered, in an imploring voice. "Don'ttouch me, till I'm yours.... I've told you I'm yours, but don'ttouch me... spare me.... With them here, with them close, you mustn't.He's here. It's nasty here..." "I'll obey you! I won't think of it... I worship you!" mutteredMitya. "Yes, it's nasty here, it's abominable." And still holding her in his arms, he sank on his knees by thebedside. "I know, though you're a brute, you're generous," Grushenkaarticulated with difficulty. "It must be honourable... it shall behonourable for the future... and let us be honest, let us be good, notbrutes, but good... take me away, take me far away, do you hear? Idon't want it to be here, but far, far away..." "Oh, yes, yes, it must be!" said Mitya, pressing her in hisarms. "I'll take you and we'll fly away.... Oh, I'd give my whole lifefor one year only to know about that blood!" "What blood?" asked Grushenka, bewildered. "Nothing," muttered Mitya, through his teeth. "Grusha, youwanted to be honest, but I'm a thief. But I've stolen money fromKatya.... Disgrace, a disgrace!" "From Katya, from that young lady? No, you didn't steal it. Giveit back to her, take it from me.... Why make a fuss? Now everything ofmine is yours. What does money matter? We shall waste it anyway....Folks like us are bound to waste money. But we'd better go and workthe land. I want to dig the earth with my own hands. We must work,do you hear? Alyosha said so. I won't be your mistress, I'll befaithful to you, I'll be your slave, I'll work for you. We'll go tothe young lady and bow down to her together, so that she may forgiveus, and then we'll go away. And if she won't forgive us, we'll go,anyway. Take her money and love me.... Don't love her.... Don't loveher any more. If you love her, I shall strangle her.... I'll put outboth her eyes with a needle..." "I love you. love only you. I'll love you in Siberia..." "Why Siberia? Never mind, Siberia, if you like. I don't care...we'll work... there's snow in Siberia.... I love driving in thesnow... and must have bells.... Do you hear, there's a bell ringing?Where is that bell ringing? There are people coming.... Now it'sstopped." She closed her eyes, exhausted, and suddenly fell asleep for aninstant. There had certainly been the sound of a bell in the distance,but the ringing had ceased. Mitya let his head sink on her breast.He did not notice that the bell had ceased ringing, nor did henotice that the songs had ceased, and that instead of singing anddrunken clamour there was absolute stillness in the house. Grushenkaopened her eyes. "What's the matter? Was I asleep? Yes... a bell... I've beenasleep and dreamt I was driving over the snow with bells, and I dozed.I was with someone I loved, with you. And far, far away. I was holdingyou and kissing you, nestling close to you. I was cold, and the snowglistened.... You know how the snow glistens at night when the moonshines. It was as though I was not on earth. I woke up, and my dearone is close to me. How sweet that is!..." "Close to you," murmured Mitya, kissing her dress, her bosom,her hands. And suddenly he had a strange fancy: it seemed to himthat she was looking straight before her, not at him, not into hisface, but over his head, with an intent, almost uncanny fixity. Anexpression of wonder, almost of alarm, came suddenly into her face. "Mitya, who is that looking at us?" she whispered. Mitya turned, and saw that someone had, in fact, parted thecurtains and seemed to be watching them. And not one person alone,it seemed. He jumped up and walked quickly to the intruder. "Here, come to us, come here," said a voice, speaking notloudly, but firmly and peremptorily. Mitya passed to the other side of the curtain and stood stockstill. The room was filled with people, but not those who had beenthere before. An instantaneous shiver ran down his back, and heshuddered. He recognised all those people instantly. That tall,stout old man in the overcoat and forage-cap with a cockade- was thepolice captain, Mihail Makarovitch. And that "consumptive-looking"trim dandy,"who always has such polished boots"- that was the deputyprosecutor. "He has a chronometer worth four hundred roubles; heshowed it to me." And that small young man in spectacles.... Mityaforgot his surname though he knew him, had seen him: he was the"investigating lawyer," from the "school of jurisprudence," who hadonly lately come to the town. And this man- the inspector of police,Mavriky Mavrikyevitch, a man he knew well. And those fellows withthe brass plates on, why are they here? And those other two...peasants.... And there at the door Kalganov with TrifonBorissovitch.... "Gentlemen! What's this for, gentlemen?" began Mitya, butsuddenly, as though beside himself, not knowing what he was doing,he cried aloud, at the top of his voice: "I un-der-stand!" The young man in spectacles moved forward suddenly, and steppingup to Mitya, began with dignity, though hurriedly: "We have to make... in brief, I beg you to come this way, this wayto the sofa.... It is absolutely imperative that you should give anexplanation." "The old man!" cried Mitya frantically. "The old man and hisblood!... I understand." And he sank, almost fell, on a chair close by, as though he hadbeen mown down by a scythe. "You understand? He understands it! Monster and parricide! Yourfather's blood cries out against you!" the old captain of policeroared suddenly, stepping up to Mitya. He was beside himself, crimson in the face and quivering all over. "This is impossible!" cried the small young man. "MihailMakarovitch, Mihail Makarovitch, this won't do!... I beg you'llallow me to speak. I should never have expected such behaviour fromyou..." "This is delirium, gentlemen, raving delirium," cried thecaptain of police; "look at him: drunk, at this time of night, inthe company of a disreputable woman, with the blood of his father onhis hands.... It's delirium!..." "I beg you most earnestly, dear Mihail Makarovitch, to restrainyour feelings," the prosecutor said in a rapid whisper to the oldpolice captain, "or I shall be forced to resort to- " But the little lawyer did not allow him to finish. He turned toMitya, and delivered himself in a loud, firm, dignified voice: "Ex-Lieutenant Karamazov, it is my duty to inform you that you arecharged with the murder of your father, Fyodor Pavlovitch Karamazov,perpetrated this night..." He said something more, and the prosecutor, too, put in something,but though Mitya heard them he did not understand them. He stared atthem all with wild eyes. Book IX The Preliminary Investigation

Chapter 1 The Beginning of Perhotin's Official Career

PYOTR ILYITCH PERHOTIN, whom we left knocking at the strong lockedgates of the widow Morozov's house, ended, of course, by makinghimself heard. Fenya, who was still excited by the fright she hadhad two hours before, and too much "upset" to go to bed, was almostfrightened into hysterics on hearing the furious knocking at the gate.Though she had herself seen him drive away, she fancied that it mustbe Dmitri Fyodorovitch knocking again, no one else could knock sosavagely. She ran to the house-porter, who had already waked up andgone out to the gate, and began imploring him not to open it. Buthaving questioned Pyotr Ilyitch, and learned that he wanted to seeFenya on very "important business," the man made up his mind at lastto open. Pyotr Ilyitch was admitted into Fenya's kitchen, but the girlbegged him to allow the houseporter to be present, "because of hermisgivings." He began questioning her and at once learnt the mostvital fact, that is, that when Dmitri Fyodorovitch had run out to lookfor Grushenka, he had snatched up a pestle from the mortar, and thatwhen he returned, the pestle was not with him and his hands weresmeared with blood. "And the blood was simply flowing, dripping from him, dripping!"Fenya kept exclaiming. This horrible detail was simply the productof her disordered imagination. But although not "dripping," PyotrIlyitch had himself seen those hands stained with blood, and hadhelped to wash them. Moreover, the question he had to decide was,not how soon the blood had dried, but where Dmitri Fyodorovitch hadrun with the pestle, or rather, whether it really was to FyodorPavlovitch's, and how he could satisfactorily ascertain. Pyotr Ilyitchpersisted in returning to this point, and though he found outnothing conclusive, yet he carried away a conviction that DmitriFyodorovitch could have gone nowhere but to his father's house, andthat, therefore, something must have happened there. "And when he came back," Fenya added with excitement. "I toldhim the whole story, and then I began asking him, 'Why have you gotblood on your hands, Dmitri Fyodorovitch?' and he answered that thatwas human blood, and that he had just killed someone. He confessedit all to me, and suddenly ran off like a madman. I sat down and beganthinking, where's he run off to now like a madman? He'll go to Mokroe,I thought, and kill my mistress there. I ran out to beg him not tokill her. I was running to his lodgings, but I looked at Plotnikov'sshop, and saw him just setting off, and there was no blood on hishands then." (Fenya had noticed this and remembered it.) Fenya's oldgrandmother confirmed her evidence as far as she was capable. Afterasking some further questions, Pyotr Ilyitch left the house, even moreupset and uneasy than he had been when he entered it. The most direct and the easiest thing for him to do would havebeen to go straight to Fyodor Pavlovitch's, to find out whetheranything had happened there, and if so, what; and only to go to thepolice captain, as Pyotr Ilyitch firmly intended doing, when he hadsatisfied himself of the fact. But the night was dark, FyodorPavlovitch's gates were strong, and he would have to knock again.His acquaintance with Fyodor Pavlovitch was of the slightest, and whatif, after he had been knocking, they opened to him, and nothing hadhappened? Fyodor Pavlovitch in his jeering way would go telling thestory all over the town, how a stranger, called Perhotin, had brokenin upon him at midnight to ask if anyone had killed him. It would makea scandal. And scandal was what Pyotr Ilyitch dreaded more thananything in the world. Yet the feeling that possessed him was so strong, that though hestamped his foot angrily and swore at himself, he set off again, notto Fyodor Pavlovitch's but to Madame Hohlakov's. He decided that ifshe denied having just given Dmitri Fyodorovitch three thousandroubles, he would go straight to the police captain, but if sheadmitted having given him the money, he would go home and let thematter rest till next morning. It is, of course, perfectly evident that there was even morelikelihood of causing scandal by going at eleven o'clock at night to afashionable lady, a complete stranger, and perhaps rousing her fromher bed to ask her an amazing question, than by going to FyodorPavlovitch. But that is just how it is, sometimes, especially in caseslike the present one, with the decisions of the most precise andphlegmatic people. Pyotr Ilyitch was by no means phlegmatic at thatmoment. He remembered all his life how a haunting uneasiness graduallygained possession of him, growing more and more painful and drivinghim on, against his will. Yet he kept cursing himself, of course,all the way for going to this lady, but "I will get to the bottom ofit, I will!" he repeated for the tenth time, grinding his teeth, andhe carried out his intention. It was exactly eleven o'clock when he entered Madame Hohlakov'shouse. He was admitted into the yard pretty quickly, but, inresponse to his inquiry whether the lady was still up, the portercould give no answer, except that she was usually in bed by that time. "Ask at the top of the stairs. If the lady wants to receive you,she'll receive you. If she won't, she won't." Pyotr Ilyitch went up, but did not find things so easy here. Thefootman was unwilling to take in his name, but finally called amaid. Pyotr Ilyitch politely but insistently begged her to informher lady that an official, living in the town, called Perhotin, hadcalled on particular business, and that if it were not of the greatestimportance he would not have ventured to come. "Tell her in thosewords, in those words exactly," he asked the girl. She went away. He remained waiting in the entry. Madame Hohlakovherself was already in her bedroom, though not yet asleep. She hadfelt upset ever since Mitya's visit, and had a presentiment that shewould not get through the night without the sick headache whichalways, with her, followed such excitement. She was surprised onhearing the announcement from the maid. She irritably declined tosee him, however, though the unexpected visit at such an hour, of an"official living in the town," who was a total stranger, roused herfeminine curiosity intensely. But this time Pyotr Ilyitch was asobstinate as a mule. He begged the maid most earnestly to take anothermessage in these very words: "That he had come on business of the greatest importance, and thatMadame Hohlakov might have cause to regret it later, if she refused tosee him now." "I plunged headlong," he described it afterwards. The maid, gazing at him in amazement, went to take his messageagain. Madame Hohlakov was impressed. She thought a little, asked whathe looked like, and learned that he was very well dressed, young,and so polite." We may note, parenthetically, that Pyotr Ilyitch was arather good-looking young man, and well aware of the fact. MadameHohlakov made up her mind to see him. She was in her dressing-gown andslippers, but she flung a black shawl over her shoulders. "Theofficial" was asked to walk into the drawing-room, the very room inwhich Mitya had been received shortly before. The lady came to meether visitor, with a sternly inquiring countenance, and, without askinghim to sit down, began at once with the question: "What do you want?" "I have ventured to disturb you, madam, on a matter concerning ourcommon acquaintance, Dmitri Fyodorovitch Karamazov," Perhotin began. But he had hardly uttered the name, when the lady's face showedsigns of acute irritation. She almost shrieked, and interrupted him ina fury: "How much longer am I to be worried by that awful man?" shecried hysterically. "How dare you, sir, how could you venture todisturb a lady who is a stranger to you, in her own house at such anhour!... And to force yourself upon her to talk of a man who camehere, to this very drawing-room, only three hours ago, to murder me,and went stamping out of the room, as no one would go out of adecent house. Let me tell you, sir, that I shall lodge a complaintagainst you, that I will not let it pass. Kindly leave me at once... Iam a mother.... I... I-" "Murder! then he tried to murder you, too?" "Why, has he killed somebody else?" Madame Hohlakov askedimpulsively. "If you would kindly listen, madam, for half a moment, I'llexplain it all in a couple of words," answered Perhotin, firmly. "Atfive o'clock this afternoon Dmitri Fyodorovitch borrowed ten roublesfrom me, and I know for a fact he had no money. Yet at nine o'clock,he came to see me with a bundle of hundred-rouble notes in his hand,about two or three thousand roubles. His hands and face were allcovered with blood, and he looked like a madman. When I asked himwhere he had got so much money, he answered that he had justreceived it from you, that you had given him a sum of three thousandto go to the gold mines..." Madame Hohlakov's face assumed an expression of intense andpainful excitement. "Good God! He must have killed his old father!" she cried,clasping her hands. "I have never given him money, never! Oh, run,run!... Don't say another word Save the old man... run to hisfather... run!" "Excuse me, madam, then you did not give him money? You rememberfor a fact that you did not give him any money?" "No, I didn't, I didn't! I refused to give it him, for he couldnot appreciate it. He ran out in a fury, stamping. He rushed at me,but I slipped away.... And let me tell you, as I wish to hidenothing from you now, that he positively spat at me. Can you fancythat! But why are we standing? Ah, sit down." "Excuse me, I..." "Or better run, run, you must run and save the poor old man froman awful death!" "But if he has killed him already?" "Ah, good heavens, yes! Then what are we to do now? What do youthink we must do now?" Meantime she had made Pyotr Ilyitch sit down and sat down herself,facing him briefly, but fairly clearly, Pyotr Ilyitch told her thehistory of the affair, that part of it at least which he had himselfwitnessed. He described, too, his visit to Fenya, and told her aboutthe pestle. All these details produced an overwhelming effect on thedistracted lady, who kept uttering shrieks, and covering her face withher hands... "Would you believe it, I foresaw all this! I have that specialfaculty, whatever I imagine comes to pass. And how often I've lookedat that awful man and always thought, that man will end by murderingme. And now it's happened... that is, if he hasn't murdered me, butonly his own father, it's only because the finger of God preserved me,and what's more, he was ashamed to murder me because, in this veryplace, I put the holy ikon from the relics of the holy martyr, SaintVarvara, on his neck.... And to think how near I was to death atthat minute I went close up to him and he stretched out his neck tome!... Do you know, Pyotr Ilyitch (I think you said your name wasPyotr Ilyitch), I don't believe in miracles, but that ikon and thisunmistakable miracle with me now- that shakes me, and I'm ready tobelieve in anything you like. Have you heard about FatherZossima?... But I don't know what I'm saying... and only fancy, withthe ikon on his neck he spat at me.... He only spat, it's true, hedidn't murder me and... he dashed away! But what shall we do, whatmust we do now? What do you think?" Pyotr Ilyitch got up, and announced that he was going straightto the police captain, to tell him all about it, and leave him to dowhat he thought fit. "Oh, he's an excellent man, excellent! Mihail Makarovitch, Iknow him. Of course, he's the person to go to. How practical youare, Pyotr Ilyitch! How well you've thought of everything! I shouldnever have thought of it in your place!" "Especially as I know the police captain very well, too," observedPyotr Ilyitch, who still continued to stand, and was obviously anxiousto escape as quickly as possible from the impulsive lady, who wouldnot let him say good-bye and go away. "And be sure, be sure," she prattled on, "to come back and tell mewhat you see there, and what you find out... what comes to light...how they'll try him... and what he's condemned to.... Tell me, we haveno capital punishment, have we? But be sure to come, even if it's atthree o'clock at night, at four, at half-past four.... Tell them towake me, to wake me, to shake me, if I don't get up.... But, goodheavens, I shan't sleep! But wait, hadn't I better come with you?" "N-no. But if you would write three lines with your own hand,stating that you did not give Dmitri Fyodorovitch money, it might,perhaps, be of use... in case it's needed..." "To be sure!" Madame Hohlakov skipped, delighted, to her bureau."And you know I'm simply struck, amazed at your resourcefulness,your good sense in such affairs. Are you in the service here? I'mdelighted to think that you're in the service here!" And still speaking, she scribbled on half a sheet of notepaper thefollowing lines:

I've never in my life lent to that unhappy man, DmitriFyodorovitch Karamazov (for, in spite of all, he is unhappy), threethousand roubles to-day. I've never given him money, never: That Iswear by all thats holy! K. Hohlakov

"Here's the note!" she turned quickly to Pyotr Ilyitch. "Go,save him. It's a noble deed on your part!" And she made the sign of the cross three times over him. She ranout to accompany him to the passage. "How grateful I am to you! You can't think how grateful I am toyou for having come to me, first. How is it I haven't met youbefore? I shall feel flattered at seeing you at my house in thefuture. How delightful it is that you are living here!... Suchprecision! Such practical ability!... They must appreciate you, theymust understand you. If there's anything I can do, believe me... oh, Ilove young people! I'm in love with young people! The youngergeneration are the one prop of our suffering country. Her one hope....Oh, go, go!..." But Pyotr Ilyitch had already run away or she would not have lethim go so soon. Yet Madame Hohlakov had made a rather agreeableimpression on him, which had somewhat softened his anxiety at beingdrawn into such an unpleasant affair. Tastes differ, as we all know."She's by no means so elderly," he thought, feeling pleased, "on thecontrary I should have taken her for her daughter." As for Madame Hohlakov, she was simply enchanted by the young man."Such sence such exactness! in so young a man! in our day! and allthat with such manners and appearance! People say the young peopleof to-day are no good for anything, but here's an example!" etc. Soshe simply forgot this "dreadful affair," and it was only as she wasgetting into bed, that, suddenly recalling "how near death she hadbeen," she exclaimed: "Ah, it is awful, awful!" But she fell at once into a sound, sweet sleep. I would not, however, have dwelt on such trivial and irrelevantdetails, if this eccentric meeting of the young official with the byno means elderly widow had not subsequently turned out to be thefoundation of the whole career of that practical and precise youngman. His story is remembered to this day with amazement in our town,and I shall perhaps have something to say about it, when I havefinished my long history of the Brothers Karamazov. Chapter 2 The Alarm

OUR police captain, Mihail Makarovitch Makarov, a retiredlieutenant-colonel, was a widower and an excellent man. He had onlycome to us three years previously, but had won general esteem, chieflybecause he "knew how to keep society together." He was never withoutvisitors, and could not have got on without them. Someone or other wasalways dining with him; he never sat down to table without guests.He gave regular dinners, too, on all sorts of occasions, sometimesmost surprising ones. Though the fare was not recherche, it wasabundant. The fish-pies were excellent, and the wine made up inquantity for what it lacked in quality. The first room his guests entered was a well fitted billiard-room,with pictures of English race horses, in black frames on the walls, anessential decoration, as we all know, for a bachelor'sbilliard-room. There was card playing every evening at his house, ifonly at one table. But at frequent intervals, all the society of ourtown, with the mammas and young ladies, assembled at his house todance. Mihail Makarovitch was a widower, he did not live alone. Hiswidowed daughter lived with him, with her two unmarried daughters,grown-up girls, who had finished their education. They were ofagreeable appearance and lively character, and though everyone knewthey would have no dowry, they attracted all the young men offashion to their grandfather's house. Mihail Makarovitch was by no means very efficient in his work,though he performed his duties no worse than many others. To speakplainly, he was a man of rather narrow education. His understanding ofthe limits of his administrative power could not always be reliedupon. It was not so much that he failed to grasp certain reformsenacted during the present reign, as that he made conspicuous blundersin his interpretation of them. This was not from any special lack ofintelligence, but from carelessness, for he was always in to great ahurry to go into the subject. "I have the heart of a soldier rather than of a civilian," he usedto say of himself. He had not even formed a definite idea of thefundamental principles of the reforms connected with theemancipation of the serfs, and only picked it up, so to speak, fromyear to year, involuntarily increasing his knowledge by practice.And yet he was himself a landowner. Pyotr Ilyitch knew for certainthat he would meet some of Mihail Makarovitch's visitors there thatevening, but he didn't know which. As it happened, at that momentthe prosecutor, and Varvinsky, our district doctor, a young man, whohad only just come to us from Petersburg after taking a brilliantdegree at the Academy of Medicine, were playing whist at the policecaptain's. Ippolit Kirillovitch, the prosecutor (he was really thedeputy prosecutor, but we always called him the prosecutor), wasrather a peculiar man, of about five and thirty, inclined to beconsumptive, and married to a fat and childless woman. He was vain andirritable, though he had a good intellect, and even a kind heart. Itseemed that all that was wrong with him was that he had a betteropinion of himself than his ability warranted. And that made himseem constantly uneasy. He had, moreover, certain higher, evenartistic, leanings, towards psychology, for instance, a specialstudy of the human heart, a special knowledge of the criminal andhis crime. He cherished a grievance on this ground, considering thathe had been passed over in the service, and being firmly persuadedthat in higher spheres he had not been properly appreciated, and hadenemies. In gloomy moments he even threatened to give up his post, andpractise as a barrister in criminal cases. The unexpected Karamazovcase agitated him profoundly: "It was a case that might well be talkedabout all over Russia." But I am anticipating. Nikolay Parfenovitch Nelyudov, the young investigating lawyer, whohad only come from Petersburg two months before, was sitting in thenext room with the young ladies. People talked about it afterwards andwondered that all the gentlemen should, as though intentionally, onthe evening of "the crime" have been gathered together at the house ofthe executive authority. Yet it was perfectly simple and happenedquite naturally. Ippolit Kirillovitch's wife had had toothache for the last twodays, and he was obliged to go out to escape from her groans. Thedoctor, from the very nature of his being, could not spend anevening except at cards. Nikolay Parfenovitch Nelyudov had beenintending for three days past to drop in that evening at MihailMakarovitch's, so to speak casually, so as slyly to startle the eldestgranddaughter, Olga Mihailovna, by showing that he knew her secret,that he knew it was her birthday, and that she was trying to concealit on purpose, so as not to be obliged to give a dance. He anticipateda great deal of merriment, many playful jests about her age, and herbeing afraid to reveal it, about his knowing her secret and tellingeverybody, and so on. The charming young man was a great adept at suchteasing; the ladies had christened him "the naughty man," and heseemed to be delighted at the name. He was extremely well-bred,however, of good family, education and feelings, and, though leading alife of pleasure, his sallies were always innocent and in goodtaste. He was short, and delicate-looking. On his white, slender,little fingers he always wore a number of big, glittering rings.When he was engaged in his official duties, he always becameextraordinarily grave, as though realising his position and thesanctity of the obligations laid upon him. He had a special gift formystifying murderers and other criminals of the peasant class duringinterrogation, and if he did not win their respect, he certainlysucceeded in arousing their wonder. Pyotr Ilyitch was simply dumbfounded when he went into thepolice captain's. He saw instantly that everyone knew. They hadpositively thrown down their cards, all were standing up andtalking. Even Nikolay Parfenovitch had left the young ladies and runin, looking strenuous and ready for action. Pyotr Ilyitch was met withthe astounding news that old Fyodor Pavlovitch really had beenmurdered that evening in his own house, murdered and robbed. Thenews had only just reached them in the following manner: Marfa Ignatyevna, the wife of old Grigory, who had been knockedsenseless near the fence, was sleeping soundly in her bed and mightwell have slept till morning after the draught she had taken. But, allof a sudden she waked up, no doubt roused by a fearful epilepticscream from Smerdyakov, who was lying in the next room unconscious.That scream always preceded his fits, and always terrified and upsetMarfa Ignatyevna. She could never get accustomed to it. She jumpedup and ran half-awake to Smerdyakov's room. But it was dark there, andshe could only hear the invalid beginning to gasp and struggle. ThenMarfa Ignatyevna herself screamed out and was going to call herhusband, but suddenly realised that when she had got up, he was notbeside her in bed. She ran back to the bedstead and began groping withher hands, but the bed was really empty. Then he must have gone outwhere? She ran to the steps and timidly called him. She got no answer,of course, but she caught the sound of groans far away in the gardenin the darkness. She listened. The groans were repeated, and it wasevident they came from the garden. "Good Lord! just as it was with Lizaveta Smerdyashtchaya!" shethought distractedly. She went timidly down the steps and saw that thegate into the garden was open. "He must be out there, poor dear," she thought. She went up to thegate and all at once she distinctly heard Grigory calling her by name,Marfa! Marfa!" in a weak, moaning, dreadful voice. "Lord, preserve us from harm!" Marfa Ignatyevna murmured, andran towards the voice, and that was how she found Grigory. But shefound him not by the fence where he had been knocked down, but abouttwenty paces off. It appeared later, that he had crawled away oncoming to himself, and probably had been a long time getting so far,losing consciousness several times. She noticed at once that he wascovered with blood, and screamed at the top of her voice. Grigorywas muttering incoherently: "He has murdered... his father murdered.... Why scream, silly...run... fetch someone..." But Marfa continued screaming, and seeing that her master's windowwas open and that there was a candle alight in the window, she ranthere and began calling Fyodor Pavlovitch. But peeping in at thewindow, she saw a fearful sight. Her master was lying on his back,motionless, on the floor. His light-coloured dressing-gown and whiteshirt were soaked with blood. The candle on the table brightly lightedup the blood and the motionless dead face of Fyodor Pavlovitch. Terror-stricken, Marfa rushed away from the window, ran out of thegarden, drew the bolt of the big gate and ran headlong by the back wayto the neighbour, Marya Konndratyevna. Both mother and daughter wereasleep, but they waked up at Marfa's desperate and persistentscreaming and knocking at the shutter. Marfa, shrieking andscreaming incoherently, managed to tell them the main fact, and to begfor assistance. It happened that Foma had come back from hiswanderings and was staying the night with them. They got him upimmediately and all three ran to the scene of the crime. On the way,Marya Kondratyevna remembered that at about eight o'clock she hearda dreadful scream from their garden, and this was no doubt Grigory'sscream, "Parricide!" uttered when he caught hold of Mitya's leg. "Some one person screamed out and then was silent," MaryaKondratyevna explained as she ran. Running to the place whereGrigory lay, the two women with the help of Foma carried him to thelodge. They lighted a candle and saw that Smerdyakov was no better,that he was writhing in convulsions, his eyes fixed in a squint, andthat foam was flowing from his lips. They moistened Grigory's foreheadwith water mixed with vinager, and the water revived him at once. Heasked immediately: "Is the master murdered?" Then Foma and both the women ran to the house and saw this timethat not only the window, but also the door into the garden was wideopen, though Fyodor Pavlovitch had for the last week locked himself inevery night and did not allow even Grigory to come in on anypretext. Seeing that door open, they were afraid to go in to FyodorPavlovitch "for fear anything should happen afterwards." And when theyreturned to Grigory, the old man told them to go straight to thepolice captain. Marya Kondratyevna ran there and gave the alarm to thewhole party at the police captain's. She arrived only five minutesbefore Pyotr Ilyitch, so that his story came, not as his own surmiseand theory, but as the direct conformation by a witness, of the theoryheld by all, as to the identity of the criminal (a theory he had inthe bottom of his heart refused to believe till that moment). It was resolved to act with energy. The deputy police inspector ofthe town was commissioned to take four witnesses, to enter FyodorPavlovitch's house and there to open an inquiry on the spot, accordingto the regular forms, which I will not go into here. The districtdoctor, a zealous man, new to his work, almost insisted onaccompanying the police captain, the prosecutor, and the investigatinglawyer. I will note briefly that Fyodor Pavlovitch was found to be quitedead, with his skull battered in. But with what? Most likely withthe same weapon with which Grigory had been attacked. Andimmediately that weapon was found, Grigory, to whom all possiblemedical assistance was at once given, described in a weak and breakingvoice how he had been knocked down. They began looking with alantern by the fence and found the brass pestle dropped in a mostconspicuous place on the garden path. There were no signs ofdisturbance in the room where Fyodor Pavlovitch was lying. But bythe bed, behind the screen, they picked up from the floor a big andthick envelope with the inscription: "A present of three thousandroubles for my angel Grushenka, if she is willing to come." Andbelow had been added by Fyodor Pavlovitch, "For my little chicken."There were three seals of red sealing-wax on the envelope, but ithad been torn open and was empty: the money had been removed. Theyfound also on the floor a piece of narrow pink ribbon, with whichthe envelope had been tied up. One piece of Pyotr Ilyitch's evidence made a great impression onthe prosecutor and the investigating magistrate, namely, his idea thatDmitri Fyodorovitch would shoot himself before daybreak, that he hadresolved to do so, had spoken of it to Ilyitch, had taken the pistols,loaded them before him, written a letter, put it in his pocket, etc.When Pyotr Ilyitch, though still unwilling to believe in it,threatened to tell someone so as to prevent the suicide, Mitya hadanswered grinning: "You'll be too late." So they must make haste toMokroe to find the criminal, before he really did shoot himself. "That's clear, that's clear!" repeated the prosecutor in greatexcitement. "That's just the way with mad fellows like that: 'Ishall kill myself to-morrow, so I'll make merry till I die!'" The story of how he had bought the wine and provisions excited theprosecutor more than ever. "Do you remember the fellow that murdered a merchant calledOlsufyev, gentlemen? He stole fifteen hundred, went at once to havehis hair curled, and then, without even hiding the money, carryingit almost in his hand in the same way, he went off to the girls." All were delayed, however, by the inquiry, the search, and theformalities, etc., in the house of Fyodor Pavlovitch. It all took timeand so, two hours before starting, they sent on ahead to Mokroe theofficer of the rural police, Mavriky Mavrikyevitch Schmertsov, who hadarrived in the town the morning before to get his pay. He wasinstructed to avoid raising the alarm when he reached Mokroe, but tokeep constant watch over the "criminal" till the arrival of the properauthorities, to procure also witnesses for the arrest, policeconstables, and so on. Mavriky Mavrikyevitch did as he was told,preserving his incognito, and giving no one but his oldacquaintance, Trifon Borissovitch, the slightest hint of his secretbusiness. He had spoken to him just before Mitya met the landlord inthe balcony, looking for him in the dark, and noticed at once a changein Trifon Borissovitch's face and voice. So neither Mitya nor anyoneelse knew that he was being watched. The box with the pistols had beencarried off by Trifon Borissovitch and put in a suitable place. Onlyafter four o'clock, almost at sunrise, all the officials, the policecaptain, the prosecutor, the investigating lawyer, drove up in twocarriages, each drawn by three horses. The doctor remained at FyodorPavlovitch's to make a post-mortem next day on the body. But he wasparticularly interested in the condition of the servant, Smerdyakov. "Such violent and protracted epileptic fits, recurring continuallyfor twenty-four hours, are rarely to be met with, and are ofinterest to science," he declared enthusiastically to hiscompanions, and as they left they laughingly congratulated him onhis find. The prosecutor and the investigating lawyer distinctlyremembered the doctor's saying that Smerdyakov could not outlive thenight. After these long, but I think necessary explanations, we willreturn to that moment of our tale at which we broke off. Chapter 3 The Sufferings of a Soul The First Ordeal

AND so Mitya sat looking wildly at the people round him, notunderstanding what was said to him. Suddenly he got up, flung up hishands, and shouted aloud: "I'm not guilty! I'm not guilty of that blood! I'm not guilty ofmy father's blood.... I meant to kill him. But I'm not guilty. Not I." But he had hardly said this, before Grushenka rushed from behindthe curtain and flung herself at the police captain's feet. "It was my fault! Mine! My wickedness!" she cried, in aheart-rending voice, bathed in tears, stretching out her clasped handstowards them. "He did it through me. I tortured him and drove him toit. I tortured that poor old man that's dead, too, in my wickedness,and brought him to this! It's my fault, mine first, mine most, myfault!" "Yes, it's your fault! You're the chief criminal! You fury! Youharlot! You're the most to blame!" shouted the police captain,threatening her with his hand. But he was quickly and resolutelysuppressed. The prosecutor positively seized hold of him. "This is absolutely irregular, Mihail Makarovitch!" he cried. "Youare positively hindering the inquiry.... You're ruining the case."he almost gasped. "Follow the regular course! Follow the regular course!" criedNikolay Parfenovitch, fearfully excited too, "otherwise it'sabsolutely impossible!..." "Judge us together!" Grushenka cried frantically, stillkneeling. "Punish us together. I will go with him now, if it's todeath!" "Grusha, my life, my blood, my holy one!" Mitya fell on hisknees beside her and held her tight in his arms. "Don't believeher," he cried, "she's not guilty of anything, of any blood, ofanything!" He remembered afterwards that he was forcibly dragged away fromher by several men, and that she was led out, and that when herecovered himself he was sitting at the table. Beside him and behindhim stood the men with metal plates. Facing him on the other side ofthe table sat Nikolay Parfenovitch, the investigating lawyer. Hekept persuading him to drink a little water out of a glass thatstood on the table. "That will refresh you, that will calm you. Be calm, don't befrightened," he added, extremely politely. Mitya (he remembered itafterwards) became suddenly intensely interested in his big rings, onewith an amethyst, and another with a transparent bright yellowstone, of great brilliance. And long afterwards he remembered withwonder how those rings had riveted his attention through all thoseterrible hours of interrogation, so that he was utterly unable to tearhimself away from them and dismiss them, as things that had nothing todo with his position. On Mitya's left side, in the place where Maximovhad been sitting at the beginning of the evening, the prosecutor wasnow seated, and on Mitya's right hand, where Grushenka had been, was arosy-cheeked young man in a sort of shabby hunting-jacket, with inkand paper before him. This was the secretary of the investigatinglawyer, who had brought him with him. The police captain was nowstanding by the window at the other end of the room, besideKalganov, who was sitting there. "Drink some water," said the investigating lawyer softly, forthe tenth time. "I have drunk it, gentlemen, I have... but come gentlemen, crushme, punish me, decide my fate!" cried Mitya, staring with terriblyfixed wide-open eyes at the investigating lawyer. "So you positively declare that you are not guilty of the death ofyour father, Fyodor Pavlovitch?" asked the investigating lawyer,softly but insistently. "I am not guilty. I am guilty of the blood of another old man, butnot of my father's. And I weep for it! I killed, I killed the oldman and knocked him down.... But it's hard to have to answer forthat murder with another, a terrible murder of which I am notguilty....It's a terrible accusation, gentlemen, a knockdown blow. Butwho has killed my father, who has killed him? Who can have killedhim if I didn't? It's marvellous, extraordinary, impossible." "Yes, who can have killed him?" the investigating lawyer wasbeginning, but Ippolit Kirillovitch, the prosecutor, glancing athim, addressed Mitya. "You need not worry yourself about the old servant, GrigoryVasilyevitch. He is alive, he has recovered, and in spite of theterrible blows inflicted, according to his own and your evidence, byyou, there seems no doubt that he will live, so the doctor says, atleast." "Alive? He's alive?" cried Mitya, flinging up his hands. Hisface beamed. "Lord, I thank Thee for the miracle Thou has wroughtfor me, a sinner and evildoer. That's an answer to my prayer. I'vebeen praying all night." And he crossed himself three times. He wasalmost breathless. "So from this Grigory we have received such important evidenceconcerning you, that-" The prosecutor would have continued, butMitya suddenly jumped up from his chair. "One minute, gentlemen, for God's sake, one minute; I will runto her-" "Excuse me, at this moment it's quite impossible," NikolayParfenovitch almost shrieked. He, too, leapt to his feet. Mitya wasseized by the men with the metal plates, but he sat down of his ownaccord.... "Gentlemen, what a pity! I wanted to see her for one minuteonly; I wanted to tell her that it has been washed away, it hasgone, that blood that was weighing on my heart all night, and that Iam not a murderer now! Gentlemen, she is my betrothed!" he saidecstatically and reverently, looking round at them all. "Oh, thankyou, gentlemen! Oh, in one minute you have given me new life, newheart!... That old man used to carry me in his arms, gentlemen. Heused to wash me in the tub when I was a baby three years old,abandoned by everyone, he was like a father to me!..." "And so you-" the investigating lawyer began. "Allow me, gentlemen, allow me one minute more," interposed Mitya,putting his elbows on the table and covering his face with hishands. "Let me have a moment to think, let me breathe, gentlemen.All this is horribly upsetting, horribly. A man is not a drum,gentlemen!" "Drink a little more water," murmured Nikolay Parfenovitch. Mitya took his hands from his face and laughed. His eyes wereconfident. He seemed completely transformed in a moment. His wholebearing was changed; he was once more the equal of these men, with allof whom he was acquainted, as though they had all met the daybefore, when nothing had happened, at some social gathering. We maynote in passing that, on his first arrival, Mitya had been made verywelcome at the police captain's, but later, during the last monthespecially, Mitya had hardly called at all, and when the policecaptain met him, in the street, for instance, Mitya noticed that hefrowned and only bowed out of politeness. His acquaintance with theprosecutor was less intimate, though he sometimes paid his wife, anervous and fanciful lady, visits of politeness, without quite knowingwhy, and she always received him graciously and had, for somereason, taken an interest in him up to the last. He had not had timeto get to know the investigating lawyer, though he had met him andtalked to him twice, each time about the fair sex. "You're a most skilful lawyer, I see, Nikolay Parfenovitch," criedMitya, laughing gaily, "but I can help you now. Oh, gentlemen, Ifeel like a new man, and don't be offended at my addressing you sosimply and directly. I'm rather drunk, too, I'll tell you thatfrankly. I believe I've had the honour and pleasure of meeting you,Nikolay Parfenovitch, at my kinsman Miusov's. Gentlemen, gentlemen,I don't pretend to be on equal terms with you. I understand, ofcourse, in what character I am sitting before you. Oh, of course,there's a horrible suspicion... hanging over me... if Grigory hasgiven evidence.... A horrible suspicion! It's awful, awful, Iunderstand that! But to business, gentlemen, I am ready, and we willmake an end of it in one moment; for, listen, listen, gentlemen! SinceI know I'm innocent, we can put an end to it in a minute. Can't we?Can't we?" Mitya spoke much and quickly, nervously and effusively, asthough he positively took his listeners to be his best friends. "So, for the present, we will write that you absolutely deny thecharge brought against you," said Nikolay Parfenovitch,impressively, and bending down to the secretary he dictated to himin an undertone what to write. "Write it down? You want to write that down? Well, write it; Iconsent, I give my full consent, gentlemen, only... do you see?...Stay, stay, write this. Of disorderly conduct I am guilty, of violenceon a poor old man I am guilty. And there is something else at thebottom of my heart, of which I am guilty, too but that you need notwrite down" (he turned suddenly to the secretary); "that's my personallife, gentlemen, that doesn't concern you, the bottom of my heart,that's to say.... But of the murder of my old father I'm not guilty.That's a wild idea. It's quite a wild idea!... I will prove you thatand you'll be convinced directly.... You will laugh, gentlemen. You'lllaugh yourselves at your suspicion!..." "Be calm, Dmitri Fyodorovitch," said the investigating lawyerevidently trying to allay Mitya's excitement by his own composure."Before we go on with our inquiry, I should like, if you willconsent to answer, to hear you confirm the statement that you dislikedyour father, Fyodor Pavlovitch, that you were involved in continualdisputes with him. Here at least, a quarter of an hour ago, youexclaimed that you wanted to kill him: 'I didn't kill him,' yousaid,'but I wanted to kill him.'" "Did I exclaim that? Ach, that may be so, gentlemen! Yes,unhappily, I did want to kill him... many times I wanted to...unhappily, unhappily!" "You wanted to. Would you consent to explain what motivesprecisely led you to such a sentiment of hatred for your parent?" "What is there to explain, gentlemen?" Mitya shrugged hisshoulders sullenly, looking down. "I have never concealed my feelings.All the town knows about it- everyone knows in the tavern. Only latelyI declared them in Father Zossima's cell. And the very same day, inthe evening I beat my father. I nearly killed him, and I swore I'dcome again and kill him, before witnesses.... Oh, a thousandwitnesses! I've been shouting it aloud for the last month, anyonecan tell you that!... The fact stares you in the face, it speaks foritself, it cries aloud, but feelings, gentlemen, feelings areanother matter. You see, gentlemen"- Mitya frowned- "it seemed to methat about feelings you've no right to question me. I know that youare bound by your office, I quite understand that, but that's myaffair, my private, intimate affair, yet... since I haven'tconcealed my feelings in the past... in the tavern, for instance, I'vetalked to everyone, so... so I won't make a secret of it now. You see,I understand, gentlemen, that there are terrible facts against me inthis business. I told everyone that I'd kill him, and now, all of asudden, he's been killed. So it must have been me! Ha ha! I can makeallowances for you, gentlemen, I can quite make allowances. I'm struckall of a heap myself, for who can have murdered him, if not I?That's what it comes to, isn't it? If not I, who can it be, who?Gentlemen, I want to know, I insist on knowing!" he exclaimedsuddenly. "Where was he murdered? How was he murdered? How, and withwhat? Tell me," he asked quickly, looking at the two lawyers. "We found him in his study, lying on his back on the floor, withhis head battered in," said the prosecutor. "That's horrible!" Mitya shuddered and, putting his elbows onthe table, hid his face in his right hand. "We will continue," interposed Nikolay Parfenovitch. "So whatwas it that impelled you to this sentiment of hatred? You haveasserted in public, I believe, that it was based upon jealousy?" "Well, yes, jealousy. not only jealousy." "Disputes about money?" "Yes, about money, too." "There was a dispute about three thousand roubles, I think,which you claimed as part of your inheritance?" "Three thousand! More, more," cried Mitya hotly; "more than sixthousand, more than ten, perhaps. I told everyone so, shouted it atthem. But I made up my mind to let it go at three thousand. I wasdesperately in need of that three thousand... so the bundle of notesfor three thousand that I knew he kept under his pillow, ready forGrushenka, I considered as simply stolen from me. Yes, gentlemen, Ilooked upon it as mine, as my own property..." The prosecutor looked significantly at the investigating lawyer,and had time to wink at him on the sly. "We will return to that subject later," said the lawyerpromptly. "You will allow us to note that point and write it down;that you looked upon that money as your own property?" "Write it down, by all means. I know that's another fact thattells against me, but I'm not afraid of facts and I tell themagainst myself. Do you hear? Do you know, gentlemen, you take me for adifferent sort of man from what I am," he added, suddenly gloomy anddejected. "You have to deal with a man of honour, a man of the highesthonour; above all don't lose sight of it- a man who's done a lot ofnasty things, but has always been, and still is, honourable at bottom,in his inner being. I don't know how to express it. That's just what'smade me wretched all my life, that I yearned to be honourable, thatI was, so to say, a martyr to a sense of honour, seeking for it with alantern, with the lantern of Diogenes, and yet all my life I've beendoing filthy things like all of us, gentlemen... that is like mealone. That was a mistake, like me alone, me alone!... Gentlemen, myhead aches..." His brows contracted with pain. "You see, gentlemen,I couldn't bear the look of him, there was something in him ignoble,impudent, trampling on everything sacred, something sneering andirreverent, loathsome, loathsome. But now that he's dead, I feeldifferently." "How do you mean?" "I don't feel differently, but I wish I hadn't hated him so." "You feel penitent?" "No, not penitent, don't write that. I'm not much good myself; I'mnot very beautiful, so I had no right to consider him repulsive.That's what I mean. Write that down, if you like." Saying this Mitya became very mournful. He had grown more and moregloomy as the inquiry continued. At that moment another unexpected scene followed. Though Grushenkahad been removed, she had not been taken far away, only into theroom next but one from the blue room, in which the examination wasproceeding. It was a little room with one window, next beyond thelarge room in which they had danced and feasted so lavishly. She wassitting there with no one by her but Maximov, who was terriblydepressed, terribly scared, and clung to her side, as though forsecurity. At their door stood one of the peasants with a metal plateon his breast. Grushenka was crying, and suddenly her grief was toomuch for her, she jumped up, flung up her arms and, with a loud wailof sorrow, rushed out of the room to him, to her Mitya, and sounexpectedly that they had not time to stop her. Mitya, hearing hercry, trembled, jumped up, and with a yell rushed impetuously to meether, not knowing what he was doing. But they were not allowed tocome together, though they saw one another. He was seized by the arms.He struggled, and tried to tear himself away. It took three or fourmen to hold him. She was seized too, and he saw her stretching out herarms to him, crying aloud as they carried her away. When the scene wasover, he came to himself again, sitting in the same place as before,opposite the investigating lawyer, and crying out to them: "What do you want with her? Why do you torment her? She's donenothing, nothing! The lawyers tried to soothe him. About ten minutes passed likethis. At last Mihail Makarovitch, who had been absent, camehurriedly into the room, and said in a loud and excited voice to theprosecutor: "She's been removed, she's downstairs. Will you allow me to sayone word to this unhappy man, gentlemen? In your presence,gentlemen, in your presence." "By all means, Mihail Makarovitch," answered the investigatinglawyer. "In the present case we have nothing against it." "Listen, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, my dear fellow," began the policecaptain, and there was a look of warm, almost fatherly, feeling forthe luckless prisoner on his excited face. "I took your AgrafenaAlexandrovna downstairs myself, and confided her to the care of thelandlord's daughters, and that old fellow Maximov is with her allthe time. And I soothed her, do you hear? I soothed and calmed her.I impressed on her that you have to clear yourself, so she mustn'thinder you, must not depress you, or you may lose your head and saythe wrong thing in your evidence. In fact, I talked to her and sheunderstood. She's a sensible girl, my boy, a good-hearted girl, shewould have kissed my old hands, begging help for you. She sent meherself, to tell you not to worry about her. And I must go, my dearfellow, I must go and tell her that you are calm and comforted abouther. And so you must be calm, do you understand? I was unfair toher; she is a Christian soul, gentlemen, yes, I tell you, she's agentle soul, and not to blame for anything. So what am I to tellher, Dmitri Fyodorovitch? Will you sit quiet or not?" The good-natured police captain said a great deal that wasirregular, but Grushenka's suffering, a fellow creature's suffering,touched his good-natured heart, and tears stood in his eyes. Mityajumped up and rushed towards him. "Forgive me, gentlemen, oh, allow me, allow me!" he cried. "You'vethe heart of an angel, an angel, Mihail Makarovitch, I thank you forher. I will, I will be calm, cheerful, in fact. Tell her, in thekindness of your heart, that I am cheerful, quite cheerful, that Ishall be laughing in a minute, knowing that she has a guardian angellike you. I shall have done with all this directly, and as soon as I'mfree, I'll be with her, she'll see, let her wait. Gentlemen," he said,turning to the two lawyers, now I'll open my whole soul to you; I'llpour out everything. We'll finish this off directly, finish it offgaily. We shall laugh at it in the end, shan't we? But gentlemen, thatwoman is the queen of my heart. Oh, let me tell you that. That onething I'll tell you now.... I see I'm with honourable men. She is mylight, she is my holy one, and if only you knew! Did you hear her cry,'I'll go to death with you'? And what have I, a penniless beggar, donefor her? Why such love for me? How can a clumsy, ugly brute like me,with my ugly face, deserve such love, that she is ready to go to exilewith me? And how she fell down at your feet for my sake, justnow!... and yet she's proud and has done nothing! How can I helpadoring her, how can I help crying out and rushing to her as I didjust now? Gentlemen, forgive me! But now, now I am comforted." And he sank back in his chair and, covering his face with hishands, burst into tears. But they were happy tears. He recoveredhimself instantly. The old police captain seemed much pleased, and thelawyers also. They felt that the examination was passing into a newphase. When the police captain went out, Mitya was positively gay. "Now, gentlemen, I am at your disposal, entirely at your disposal.And if it were not for all these trivial details, we should understandone another in a minute. I'm at those details again. I'm at yourdisposal, gentlemen, but I declare that we must have mutualconfidence, you in me and I in you, or there'll be no end to it. Ispeak in your interests. To business, gentlemen, to business, anddon't rummage in my soul; don't tease me with trifles, but only ask meabout facts and what matters, and I will satisfy you at once. And damnthe details!" So spoke Mitya. The interrogation began again. Chapter 4 The Second Ordeal

"YOU don't know how you encourage us, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, by yourreadiness to answer," said Nikolay Parfenovitch, with an animated air,and obvious satisfaction beaming in his very prominent, short-sighted,light grey eyes, from which he had removed his spectacles a momentbefore. "And you have made a very just remark about the mutualconfidence, without which it is sometimes positively impossible to geton in cases of such importance, if the suspected party really hopesand desires to defend himself and is in a position to do so. We on ourside, will do everything in our power, and you can see for yourselfhow we are conducting the case. You approve, Ippolit Kirillovitch?" Heturned to the prosecutor. "Oh, undoubtedly," replied the prosecutor. His tone was somewhatcold, compared with Nikolay Parfenovitch's impulsiveness. I will note once for all that Nikolay Parfenovitch, who had butlately arrived among us, had from the first felt marked respect forIppolit Kirillovitch, our prosecutor, and had become almost hisbosom friend. He was almost the only person who put implicit faithin Ippolit Kirillovitch's extraordinary talents as a psychologistand orator and in the justice of his grievance. He had heard of him inPetersburg. On the other hand, young Nikolay Parfenovitch was the onlyperson in the whole world whom our "unappreciated" prosecutorgenuinely liked. On their way to Mokroe they had time to come to anunderstanding about the present case. And now as they sat at thetable, the sharp-witted junior caught and interpreted every indicationon his senior colleague's face- half a word, a glance, or a wink. "Gentlemen, only let me tell my own story and don't interrupt mewith trivial questions and I'll tell you everything in a moment," saidMitya excitedly. "Excellent! Thank you. But before we proceed to listen to yourcommunication, will you allow me to inquire as to another littlefact of great interest to us? I mean the ten roubles you borrowedyesterday at about five o'clock on the security of your pistols,from your friend, Pyotr Ilyitch Perhotin." "I pledged them, gentlemen. I pledged them for ten roubles. Whatmore? That's all about it. As soon as I got back to town I pledgedthem." "You got back to town? Then you had been out of town?" "Yes, I went a journey of forty versts into the country. Didn'tyou know?" The prosecutor and Nikolay Parfenovitch exchanged glances. "Well, how would it be if you began your story with a systematicdescription of all you did yesterday, from the morning onwards?Allow us, for instance, to inquire why you were absent from thetown, and just when you left and when you came back- all those facts." "You should have asked me like that from the beginning," criedMitya, laughing aloud, "and, if you like, we won't begin fromyesterday, but from the morning of the day before; then you'llunderstand how, why, and where I went. I went the day beforeyesterday, gentlemen, to a merchant of the town, called Samsonov, toborrow three thousand roubles from him on safe security. It was apressing matter, gentlemen, it was a sudden necessity." "Allow me to interrupt you," the prosecutor put in politely."Why were you in such pressing need for just that sum, threethousand?" "Oh, gentlemen, you needn't go into details, how, when and why,and why just so much money, and not so much, and all that rigmarole.Why, it'll run to three volumes, and then you'll want an epilogue!"Mitya said all this with the good-natured but impatient familiarity ofa man who is anxious to tell the whole truth and is full of the bestintentions. "Gentlemen!"- he corrected himself hurriedly- "don't be vexed withme for my restiveness, I beg you again. Believe me once more, I feelthe greatest respect for you and understand the true position ofaffairs. Don't think I'm drunk. I'm quite sober now. And, besides,being drunk would be no hindrance. It's with me, you know, like thesaying: 'When he is sober, he is a fool; when he is drunk, he is awise man.' Ha ha! But I see, gentlemen, it's not the proper thing tomake jokes to you, till we've had our explanation, I mean. And I've myown dignity to keep up, too. I quite understand the difference for themoment. I am, after all, in the position of a criminal, and so, farfrom being on equal terms with you. And it's your business to watchme. I can't expect you to pat me on the head for what I did toGrigory, for one can't break old men's heads with impunity. Isuppose you'll put me away for him for six months, or a yearperhaps, in a house of correction. I don't know what the punishmentis- but it will be without loss of the rights of my rank, without lossof my rank, won't it? So you see, gentlemen, I understand thedistinction between us.... But you must see that you could puzzleGod Himself with such questions. 'How did you step? Where did youstep? When did you step? And on what did you step?' I shall getmixed up, if you go on like this, and you will put it all down againstme. And what will that lead to? To nothing! And even if it'snonsense I'm talking now, let me finish, and you, gentlemen, being menof honour and refinement, will forgive me! I'll finish by askingyou, gentlemen, to drop that conventional method of questioning. Imean, beginning from some miserable trifle, how I got up, what I hadfor breakfast, how I spat, and where I spat, and so distracting theattention of the criminal, suddenly stun him with an overwhelmingquestion, 'Whom did you murder? Whom did you rob?' Ha-ha! That'syour regulation method, that's where all your cunning comes in. Youcan put peasants off their guard like that, but not me. I know thetricks. I've been in the service, too. Ha ha ha! You're not angry,gentlemen? You forgive my impertinence?" he cried, looking at themwith a good-nature that was almost surprising. "It's only MityaKaramazov, you know, so you can overlook it. It would be inexcusablein a sensible man; but you can forgive it in Mitya. Ha ha!" Nikolay Parfenovitch listened, and laughed too. Though theprosecutor did not laugh, he kept his eyes fixed keenly on Mitya, asthough anxious not to miss the least syllable, the slightest movement,the smallest twitch of any feature of his face. "That's how we have treated you from the beginning," saidNikolay Parfenovitch, still laughing. "We haven't tried to put you outby asking how you got up in the morning and what you had forbreakfast. We began, indeed, with questions of the greatestimportance." "I understand. I saw it and appreciated it, and I appreciate stillmore your present kindness to me, an unprecedented kindness, worthy ofyour noble hearts. We three here are gentlemen and let everything beon the footing of mutual confidence between educated, well-bredpeople, who have the common bond of noble birth and honour. In anycase, allow me to look upon you as my best friends at this moment ofmy life, at this moment when my honour is assailed. That's nooffence to you, gentlemen, is it?" On the contrary. You've expressed all that so well, DmitriFyodorovitch," Nikolay Parfenovitch answered with dignifiedapprobation. "And enough of those trivial questions, gentlemen, all thosetricky questions! cried Mitya enthusiastically. "Or there's simplyno knowing where we shall get to! Is there?" "I will follow your sensible advice entirely," the prosecutorinterposed, addressing Mitya. "I don't withdraw my question,however. It is now vitally important for us to know exactly why youneeded that sum, I mean precisely three thousand." "Why I needed it?... Oh, for one thing and another.... Well, itwas to pay a debt." "A debt to whom?" "That I absolutely refuse to answer, gentlemen. Not because Icouldn't, or because I shouldn't dare, or because it would bedamaging, for it's all a paltry matter and absolutely trifling, but- Iwon't, because it's a matter of principle: that's my private life, andI won't allow any intrusion into my private life. That's my principle.Your question has no bearing on the case, and whatever has nothingto do with the case is my private affair. I wanted to pay a debt. Iwanted to pay a debt of honour but to whom I won't say." "Allow me to make a note of that," said the prosecutor. "By all means. Write down that I won't say, that I won't. Writethat I should think it dishonourable to say. Ech! you can write it;you've nothing else to do with your time." "Allow me to caution you, sir, and to remind you once more, if youare unaware of it," the prosecutor began, with a peculiar and sternimpressiveness, "that you have a perfect right not to answer thequestions put to you now, and we on our side have no right to extortan answer from you, if you decline to give it for one reason oranother. That is entirely a matter for your personal decision. Butit is our duty, on the other hand, in such cases as the present, toexplain and set before you the degree of injury you will be doingyourself by refusing to give this or that piece of evidence. Afterwhich I will beg you to continue." "Gentlemen, I'm not angry... I... "Mitya muttered in a ratherdisconcerted tone. "Well, gentlemen, you see, that Samsonov to whomI went then..." We will, of course, not reproduce his account of what is knownto the reader already. Mitya was impatiently anxious not to omit theslightest detail. At the same time he was in a hurry to get it over.But as he gave his evidence it was written down, and therefore theyhad continually to pull him up. Mitya disliked this, but submitted;got angry, though still good-humouredly. He did, it is true,exclaim, from time to time, "Gentlemen, that's enough to make an angelout of patience!" Or, "Gentlemen, it's no good your irritating me." But even though he exclaimed he still preserved for a time hisgenially expansive mood. So he told them how Samsonov had made afool of him two days before. (He had completely realised by now thathe had been fooled.) The sale of his watch for six roubles to obtainmoney for the journey was something new to the lawyers. They were atonce greatly interested, and even, to Mitya's intense indignation,thought it necessary to write the fact down as a secondaryconfirmation of the circumstance that he had hardly a farthing inhis pocket at the time. Little by little Mitya began to grow surly.Then, after describing his journey to see Lyagavy, the night spentin the stifling hut, and so on, he came to his return to the town.Here he began, without being particularly urged, to give a minuteaccount of the agonies of jealousy he endured on Grushenka's account. He was heard with silent attention. They inquired particularlyinto the circumstance of his having a place of ambush in MaryaKondratyevna's house at the back of Fyodor Pavlovitch's garden to keepwatch on Grushenka, and of Smerdyakov's bringing him information. Theylaid particular stress on this, and noted it down. Of his jealousyhe spoke warmly and at length, and though inwardly ashamed at exposinghis most intimate feelings to "public ignominy," so to speak, heevidently overcame his shame in order to tell the truth. The frigidseverity with which the investigating lawyer, and still more theprosecutor, stared intently at him as he told his story,disconcerted him at last considerably. "That boy, Nikolay Parfenovitch, to whom I was talking nonsenseabout women only a few days ago, and that sickly prosecutor are notworth my telling this to," he reflected mournfully. "It's ignominious.'Be patient, humble, hold thy peace.'" He wound up his reflectionswith that line. But he pulled himself together to go on again. When hecame to telling of his visit to Madame Hohlakov, he regained hisspirits and even wished to tell a little anecdote of that lady whichhad nothing to do with the case. But the investigating lawyerstopped him, and civilly suggested that he should pass on to "moreessential matters." At last, when he described his despair and toldthem how, when he left Madame Hohlakov's, he thought that he'd "getthree thousand if he had to murder someone to do it," they stopped himagain and noted down that he had "meant to murder someone." Mityalet them write it without protest. At last he reached the point in hisstory when he learned that Grushenka had deceived him and had returnedfrom Samsonov's as soon as he left her there, though she had said thatshe would stay there till midnight. "If I didn't kill Fenya then, gentlemen, it was only because Ihadn't time," broke from him suddenly at that point in his story.That, too, was carefully written down. Mitya waited gloomily, andwas beginning to tell how he ran into his father's garden when theinvestigating lawyer suddenly stopped him, and opening the bigportfolio that lay on the sofa beside him he brought out the brasspestle. "Do you recognise this object?" he asked, showing it to Mitya. "Oh, yes," he laughed gloomily. "Of course, I recognise it. Let mehave a look at it.... Damn it, never mind!" "You have forgotten to mention it," observed the investigatinglawyer. "Hang it all, I shouldn't have concealed it from you. Do yousuppose I could have managed without it? It simply escaped my memory." "Be so good as to tell us precisely how you came to arm yourselfwith it." "Certainly I will be so good, gentlemen." And Mitya described how he took the pestle and ran. "But what object had you in view in arming yourself with such aweapon?" "What object? No object. I just picked it up and ran off." "What for, if you had no object?" Mitya's wrath flared up. He looked intently at "the boy" andsmiled gloomily and malignantly. He was feeling more and moreashamed at having told "such people" the story of his jealousy sosincerely and spontaneously. "Bother the pestle!" broke from him suddenly. "But still-" "Oh, to keep off dogs... Oh, because it was dark.... In caseanything turned up." "But have you ever on previous occasions taken a weapon with youwhen you went out, since you're afraid of the dark?" "Ugh! damn it all, gentlemen! There's positively no talking toyou!" cried Mitya, exasperated beyond endurance, and turning to thesecretary, crimson with anger, he said quickly, with a note of fury inhis voice: "Write down at once... at once... 'that I snatched up the pestleto go and kill my father... Fyodor Pavlovitch... by hitting him on thehead with it!' Well, now are you satisfied, gentlemen? Are yourminds relieved?" he said, glaring defiantly at the lawyers. "We quite understand that you made that statement just now throughexasperation with us and the questions we put to you, which youconsider trivial, though they are, in fact, essential," the prosecutorremarked drily in reply. "Well, upon my word, gentlemen! Yes, I took the pestle.... Whatdoes one pick things up for at such moments? I don't know what for.I snatched it up and ran- that's all. For to me, gentlemen, passons,or I declare I won't tell you any more." He sat with his elbows on the table and his head in his hand. Hesat sideways to them and gazed at the wall, struggling against afeeling of nausea. He had, in fact, an awful inclination to get up anddeclare that he wouldn't say another word, "not if you hang me forit." "You see, gentlemen," he said at last, with difficulty controllinghimself, "you see. I listen to you and am haunted by a dream....It's a dream I have sometimes, you know.... I often dream it- it'salways the same... that someone is hunting me, someone I'm awfullyafraid of... that he's hunting me in the dark, in the night...tracking me, and I hide somewhere from him, behind a door or cupboard,hide in a degrading way, and the worst of it is, he always knows whereI am, but he pretends not to know where I am on purpose, to prolong myagony, to enjoy my terror.... That's just what you're doing now.It's just like that!" "Is that the sort of thing you dream about?" inquired theprosecutor. "Yes, it is. Don't you want to write it down?" said Mitya, witha distorted smile. "No; no need to write it down. But still you do have curiousdreams." "It's not a question of dreams now, gentlemen- this is realism,this is real life! I'm a wolf and you're the hunters. Well, hunt himdown!" "You are wrong to make such comparisons." began NikolayParfenovitch, with extraordinary softness. "No, I'm not wrong, at all!" Mitya flared up again, though hisoutburst of wrath had obviously relieved his heart. He grew moregood humoured at every word. "You may not trust a criminal or a man ontrial tortured by your questions, but an honourable man, thehonourable impulses of the heart (I say that boldly!)- no! That youmust believe you have no right indeed... but-

Be silent, heart, Be patient, humble, hold thy peace.

Well, shall I go on?" he broke off gloomily. "If you'll be so kind," answered Nikolay Parfenovitch. Chapter 5 The Third Ordeal

THOUGH Mitya spoke sullenly, it was evident that he was tryingmore than ever not to forget or miss a single detail of his story.He told them how he had leapt over the fence into his father's garden;how he had gone up to the window; told them all that had passedunder the window. Clearly, precisely, distinctly, he described thefeelings that troubled him during those moments in the garden whenhe longed so terribly to know whether Grushenka was with his father ornot. But, strange to say, both the lawyers listened now with a sort ofawful reserve, looked coldly at him, asked few questions. Mityacould gather nothing from their faces. "They're angry and offended," he thought. "Well, bother them!" When he described how he made up his mind at last to make the"signal" to his father that Grushenka had come, so that he should openthe window, the lawyers paid no attention to the word "signal," asthough they entirely failed to grasp the meaning of the word in thisconnection: so much so, that Mitya noticed it. Coming at last to themoment when, seeing his father peering out of the window, his hatredflared up and he pulled the pestle out of his pocket, he suddenly,as though of design, stopped short. He sat gazing at the wall andwas aware that their eyes were fixed upon him. "Well?" said the investigating lawyer. "You pulled out theweapon and... and what happened then? "Then? Why, then I murdered him... hit him on the head and crackedhis skull.... I suppose that's your story. That's it!" His eyes suddenly flashed. All his smothered wrath suddenly flamedup with extraordinary violence in his soul. "Our story?" repeated Nikolay Parfenovitch. Mitya dropped his eyes and was a long time silent. "My story, gentlemen? Well, was like this," he began softly."Whether it was like this," he began softly. "Whether it was someone'stears, or my mother prayed to God, or a good angel kissed me at thatinstant, I don't know. But the devil was conquered. I rushed fromthe window and ran to the fence. My father was alarmed and, for thefirst time, he saw me then, cried out, and sprang back from thewindow. I remember that very well. I ran across the garden to thefence... and there Grigory caught me, when I was sitting on thefence." At that point he raised his eyes at last and looked at hislisteners. They seemed to be staring at him with perfectly unruffledattention. A sort of paroxysm of indignation seized on Mitya's soul. "Why, you're laughing at me at this moment, gentlemen!" he brokeoff suddenly. "What makes you think that?" observed Nikolay Parfenovitch. "You don't believe one word- that's why! I understand, ofcourse, that I have come to the vital point. The old man's lying therenow with his skull broken, while I- after dramatically describinghow I wanted to kill him, and how I snatched up the pestle- I suddenlyrun away from the window. A romance! Poetry! As though one couldbelieve a fellow on his word. Ha ha! You are scoffers, gentlemen!" And he swung round on his chair so that it creaked. "And did you notice," asked the prosecutor suddenly, as though notobserving Mitya's excitement, "did you notice when you ran away fromthe window, whether the door into the garden was open?" "No, it was not open." "It was not?" "It was shut. And who could open it? Bah! the door. Wait a bit!"he seemed suddenly to bethink himself, and almost with a start: "Why, did you find the door open?" "Yes, it was open." "Why, who could have opened it if you did not open it yourselves?"cried Mitya, greatly astonished. "The door stood open, and your father's murderer undoubtedlywent in at that door, and, having accomplished the crime, went outagain by the same door," the prosecutor pronounced deliberately, asthough chiselling out each word separately. "That is perfectlyclear. The murder was committed in the room and not through thewindow; that is absolutely certain from the examination that hasbeen made, from the position of the body and everything. There canbe no doubt of that circumstance." Mitya was absolutely dumbfounded. "But that's utterly impossible!" he cried, completely at a loss."I... I didn't go in.... I tell you positively, definitely, the doorwas shut the whole time I was in the garden, and when I ran out of thegarden. I only stood at the window and saw him through the window.That's all, that's all.... I remember to the last minute. And if Ididn't remember, it would be just the same. I know it, for no one knewthe signals except Smerdyakov, and me, and the dead man. And hewouldn't have opened the door to anyone in the world without thesignals." "Signals? What signals?" asked the prosecutor, with greedy, almosthysterical, curiosity. He instantly lost all trace of his reserveand dignity. He asked the question with a sort of cringing timidity.He scented an important fact of which he had known nothing, and wasalready filled with dread that Mitya might be unwilling to discloseit. "So you didn't know!" Mitya winked at him with a malicious andmocking smile. "What if I won't tell you? From whom could you findout? No one knew about the signals except my father, Smerdyakov, andme: that was all. Heaven knew, too, but it won't tell you. But it's aninteresting fact. There's no knowing what you might build on it. Haha! Take comfort, gentlemen, I'll reveal it. You've some foolishidea in your hearts. You don't know the man you have to deal with! Youhave to do with a prisoner who gives evidence against himself, tohis own damage! Yes, for I'm a man of honour and you- are not." The prosecutor swallowed this without a murmur. He was tremblingwith impatience to hear the new fact. Minutely and diffusely Mityatold them everything about the signals invented by Fyodor Pavlovitchfor Smerdyakov. He told them exactly what every tap on the windowmeant, tapped the signals on the table, and when NikolayParfenovitch said that he supposed he, Mitya, had tapped the signal"Grushenka has come," when he tapped to his father, he answeredprecisely that he had tapped that signal, that "Grushenka had come." "So now you can build up your tower," Mitya broke off, and againturned away from them contemptuously. "So no one knew of the signals but your dead father, you, andthe valet Smerdyakov? And no one else?" Nikolay Parfenovitchinquired once more. "Yes. The valet Smerdyakov, and Heaven. Write down about Heaven.That may be of use. Besides, you will need God yourselves." And they had already of course, begun writing it down. But whilethey wrote, the prosecutor said suddenly, as though pitching on anew idea: "But if Smerdyakov also knew of these signals and you absolutelydeny all responsibility for the death of your father, was it not he,perhaps, who knocked the signal agreed upon, induced your father toopen to him, and then... committed the crime?" Mitya turned upon him a look of profound irony and intense hatred.His silent stare lasted so long that it made the prosecutor blink. "You've caught the fox again," commented Mitya at last; "you'vegot the beast by the tail. Ha ha! I see through you, Mr. Prosecutor.You thought, of course, that I should jump at that, catch at yourprompting, and shout with all my might, 'Aie! it's Smerdyakov; he'sthe murderer.' Confess that's what you thought. Confess, and I'll goon." But the prosecutor did not confess. He held his tongue and waited. "You're mistaken. I'm not going to shout, 'It's Smerdyakov,'" saidMitya. "And you don't even suspect him?" "Why, do you suspect him?" "He is suspected, too." Mitya fixed his eyes on the floor. "Joking apart," he brought out gloomily. "Listen. From the verybeginning, almost from the moment when I ran out to you from behindthe curtain, I've had the thought of Smerdyakov in my mind. I'vebeen sitting here, shouting that I'm innocent and thinking all thetime 'Smerdyakov!' I can't get Smerdyakov out of my head. In fact,I, too, thought of Smerdyakov just now; but only for a second.Almost at once I thought, 'No, it's not Smerdyakov.' It's not hisdoing, gentlemen." "In that case is there anybody else you suspect?" NikolayParfenovitch inquired cautiously. "I don't know anyone it could be, whether it's the hand ofHeaven or of Satan, but... not Smerdyakov," Mitya jerked out withdecision. "But what makes you affirm so confidently and emphatically thatit's not he?" "From my conviction- my impression. Because Smerdyakov is a man ofthe most abject character and a coward. He's not a coward, he's theepitome of all the cowardice in the world walking on two legs. Hehas the heart of a chicken. When he talked to me, he was alwaystrembling for fear I should kill him, though I never raised my handagainst him. He fell at my feet and blubbered; he has kissed thesevery boots, literally, beseeching me 'not to frighten him.' Do youhear? 'Not to frighten him.' What a thing to say! Why, I offered himmoney. He's a puling chicken- sickly, epileptic, weak-minded- achild of eight could thrash him. He has no character worth talkingabout. It's not Smerdyakov, gentlemen. He doesn't care for money; hewouldn't take my presents. Besides, what motive had he for murderingthe old man? Why, he's very likely his son, you know- his natural son.Do you know that?" "We have heard that legend. But you are your father's son, too,you know; yet you yourself told everyone you meant to murder him." "That's a thrust! And a nasty, mean one, too! I'm not afraid!Oh, gentlemen, isn't it too base of you to say that to my face? It'sbase, because I told you that myself. I not only wanted to murder him,but I might have done it. And, what's more, I went out of my way totell you of my own accord that I nearly murdered him. But, you see,I didn't murder him; you see, my guardian angel saved me- that'swhat you've not taken into account. And that's why it's so base ofyou. For I didn't kill him, I didn't kill him! Do you hear, I didnot kill him." He was almost choking. He had not been so moved before duringthe whole interrogation. "And what has he told you, gentlemen- Smerdyakov, I mean?" headded suddenly, after a pause. "May I ask that question?" "You may ask any question," the prosecutor replied with frigidseverity, "any question relating to the facts of the case, and we are,I repeat, bound to answer every inquiry you make. We found the servantSmerdyakov, concerning whom you inquire, lying unconscious in his bed,in an epileptic fit of extreme severity, that had recurred,possibly, ten times. The doctor who was with us told us, afterseeing him, that he may possibly not outlive the night." "Well, if that's so, the devil must have killed him," brokesuddenly from Mitya, as though until that moment had been askinghimself: "Was it Smerdyakov or not?" "We will come back to this later," Nikolay Parfenovitch decided."Now wouldn't you like to continue your statement?" Mitya asked for a rest. His request was courteously granted. Afterresting, he went on with his story. But he was evidently depressed. Hewas exhausted, mortified, and morally shaken. To make things worse theprosecutor exasperated him, as though intentionally, by vexatiousinterruptions about "trifling points." Scarcely had Mitya describedhow, sitting on the wall, he had struck Grigory on the head with thepestle, while the old man had hold of his left leg, and how he thenjumped down to look at him, when the prosecutor stopped him to ask himto describe exactly how he was sitting on the wall. Mitya wassurprised. "Oh, I was sitting like this, astride, one leg on one side ofthe wall and one on the other." "And the pestle?" "The pestle was in my hand." "Not in your pocket? Do you remember that precisely? Was it aviolent blow you gave him?" "It must have been a violent one. But why do you ask?" "Would you mind sitting on the chair just as you sat on the wallthen and showing us just how you moved your arm, and in whatdirection?" "You're making fun of me, aren't you?" asked Mitya, lookinghaughtily at the speaker; but the latter did not flinch. Mitya turned abruptly, sat astride on his chair, and swung hisarm. "This was how I struck him! That's how I knocked him down! Whatmore do you want?" "Thank you. May I trouble you now to explain why you jumpeddown, with what object, and what you had in view?" "Oh, hang it!... I jumped down to look at the man I'd hurt... Idon't know what for!" "Though you were so excited and were running away?" "Yes, though I was excited and running away." "You wanted to help him?" "Help!... Yes, perhaps I did want to help him.... I don'tremember." "You don't remember? Then you didn't quite know what you weredoing?" "Not at all. I remember everything- every detail. I jumped down tolook at him, and wiped his face with my handkerchief." "We have seen your handkerchief. Did you hope to restore him toconsciousness?" "I don't know whether I hoped it. I simply wanted to make surewhether he was alive or not." "Ah! You wanted to be sure? Well, what then?" "I'm not a doctor. I couldn't decide. I ran away thinking I'dkilled him. And now he's recovered." "Excellent," commented the prosecutor. "Thank you. That's all Iwanted. Kindly proceed." Alas! it never entered Mitya's head to tell them, though heremembered it, that he had jumped back from pity, and standing overthe prostrate figure had even uttered some words of regret: "You'vecome to grief, old man- there's no help for it. Well, there you mustlie." The prosecutor could only draw one conclusion: that the man hadjumped back "at such a moment and in such excitement simply with theobject of ascertaining whether the only witness of his crime weredead; that he must therefore have been a man of great strength,coolness, decision, and foresight even at such a moment,"... and soon. The prosecutor was satisfied: "I've provoked the nervous fellow by'trifles' and he has said more than he meant With painful effort Mityawent on. But this time he was pulled up immediately by NikolayParfenovitch. "How came you to run to the servant, Fedosya Markovna, with yourhands so covered with blood, and, as it appears, your face, too?" "Why, I didn't notice the blood at all at the time," answeredMitya. "That's quite likely. It does happen sometimes." The prosecutorexchanged glances with Nikolay Parfenovitch. "I simply didn't notice. You're quite right there, prosecutor,"Mitya assented suddenly. Next came the account of Mitya's sudden determination to "stepaside" and make way for their happiness. But he could not make uphis mind to open his heart to them as before, and tell them about "thequeen of his soul." He disliked speaking of her before these chillypersons "who were fastening on him like bugs." And so in response totheir reiterated questions he answered briefly and abruptly: "Well, I made up my mind to kill myself. What had I left to livefor? That question stared me in the face. Her first rightful lover hadcome back, the man who wronged her but who'd hurried back to offer hislove, after five years, and atone for the wrong with marriage.... So Iknew it was all over for me.... And behind me disgrace, and thatblood- Grigory's.... What had I to live for? So I went to redeem thepistols I had pledged, to load them and put a bullet in my brainto-morrow." "And a grand feast the night before?" "Yes, a grand feast the night before. Damn it all, gentlemen! Domake haste and finish it. I meant to shoot myself not far from here,beyond the village, and I'd planned to do it at five o'clock in themorning. And I had a note in my pocket already. I wrote it atPerhotin's when I loaded my pistols. Here's the letter. Read it!It's not for you I tell it," he added contemptuously. He took itfrom his waistcoat pocket and flung it on the table. The lawyersread it with curiosity, and, as is usual, added it to the papersconnected with the case. "And you didn't even think of washing your hands at Perhotin's?You were not afraid then of arousing suspicion?" "What suspicion? Suspicion or not, I should have galloped herejust the same, and shot myself at five o'clock, and you wouldn'thave been in time to do anything. If it hadn't been for what'shappened to my father, you would have known nothing about it, andwouldn't have come here. Oh, it's the devil's doing. It was thedevil murdered father, it was through the devil that you found itout so soon. How did you manage to get here so quick? It's marvellous,a dream!" "Mr. Perhotin informed us that when you came to him, you held inyour hands... your blood-stained hands... your money... a lot ofmoney... a bundle of hundred-rouble notes, and that his servant-boysaw it too." "That's true, gentlemen. I remember it was so." "Now, there's one little point presents itself. Can you informus," Nikolay Parfenovitch began, with extreme gentleness, "where didyou get so much money all of a sudden, when it appears from the facts,from the reckoning of time, that you had not been home?" The prosecutor's brows contracted at the question being asked soplainly, but he did not interrupt Nikolay Parfenovitch. "No, I didn't go home," answered Mitya, apparently perfectlycomposed, but looking at the floor. "Allow me then to repeat my question," Nikolay Parfenovitch wenton as though creeping up to the subject. "Where were you able toprocure such a sum all at once, when by your own confession, at fiveo'clock the same day you-" "I was in want of ten roubles and pledged my pistols withPerhotin, and then went to Madame Hohlakov to borrow three thousandwhich she wouldn't give me, and so on, and all the rest of it,"Mitya interrupted sharply. "Yes, gentlemen, I was in want of it, andsuddenly thousands turned up, eh? Do you know, gentlemen, you'reboth afraid now 'what if he won't tell us where he got it?' That'sjust how it is. I'm not going to tell you, gentlemen. You've guessedright. You'll never know," said Mitya, chipping out each word withextraordinary determination. The lawyers were silent for a moment. "You must understand, Mr. Karamazov, that it is of vitalimportance for us to know," said Nikolay Parfenovitch, softly andsuavely. "I understand; but still I won't tell you." The prosecutor, too, intervened, and again reminded the prisonerthat he was at liberty to refuse to answer questions, if he thought itto his interest, and so on. But in view of the damage he might dohimself by his silence, especially in a case of such importance as- "And so on, gentlemen, and so on. Enough! I've heard thatrigmarole before," Mitya interrupted again. "I can see for myselfhow important it is, and that this is the vital point, and still Iwon't say." "What is it to us? It's not our business, but yours. .You aredoing yourself harm," observed Nikolay Parfenovitch nervously. "You see, gentlemen, joking apart"- Mitya lifted his eyes andlooked firmly at them both- "I had an inkling from the first that weshould come to loggerheads at this point. But at first when I began togive my evidence, it was all still far away and misty; it was allfloating, and I was so simple that I began with the supposition ofmutual confidence existing between us. Now I can see for myself thatsuch confidence is out of the question, for in any case we werebound to come to this cursed stumbling-block. And now we've come toit! It's impossible and there's an end of it! But I don't blame you.You can't believe it all simply on my word. I understand that, ofcourse." He relapsed into gloomy silence. "Couldn't you, without abandoning your resolution to be silentabout the chief point, could you not, at the same time, give us someslight hint as to the nature of the motives which are strong enough toinduce you to refuse to answer, at a crisis so full of danger to you?" Mitya smiled mournfully, almost dreamily. "I'm much more good-natured than you think, gentlemen. I'll tellyou the reason why and give you that hint, though you don't deserveit. I won't speak of that, gentlemen, because it would be a stain onmy honour. The answer to the question where I got the money wouldexpose me to far greater disgrace than the murder and robbing of myfather, if I had murdered and robbed him. That's why I can't tell you.I can't for fear of disgrace. What, gentlemen, are you going towrite that down?" "Yes, we'll write it down," lisped Nikolay Parfenovitch. "You ought not to write that down about 'disgrace.' I only toldyou that in the goodness of my heart. I needn't have told you. Imade you a present of it, so to speak, and you pounce upon it at once.Oh, well, write- write what you like," he concluded, with scornfuldisgust. "I'm not afraid of you and I can still hold up my head beforeyou." "And can't you tell us the nature of that disgrace?" NikolayParfenovitch hazarded. The prosecutor frowned darkly. "No, no, c'est fini, don't trouble yourselves. It's not worthwhile soiling one's hands. I have soiled myself enough through youas it is. You're not worth it- no one is. Enough, gentlemen. I'm notgoing on." This was said too peremptorily. Nikolay Parfenovitch did notinsist further, but from Ippolit Kirillovitch's eyes he saw that hehad not given up hope. "Can you not, at least, tell us what sum you had in your handswhen you went into Mr. Perhotin's- how many roubles exactly?" "I can't tell you that." "You spoke to Mr. Perhotin, I believe, of having received threethousand from Madame Hohlakov." "Perhaps I did. Enough, gentlemen. I won't say how much I had." "Will you be so good then as to tell us how you came here and whatyou have done since you arrived?" "Oh! you might ask the people here about that. But I'll tell youif you like." He proceeded to do so, but we won't repeat his story. He told itdryly and curtly. Of the raptures of his love he said nothing, buttold them that he abandoned his determination to shoot himself,owing to "new factors in the case." He told the story without goinginto motives or details. And this time the lawyers did not worry himmuch. It was obvious that there was no essential point of interestto them here. "We shall verify all that. We will come back to it during theexamination of the witnesses, which will, of course, take place inyour presence," said Nikolay Parfenovitch in conclusion. "And nowallow me to request you to lay on the table everything in yourpossession, especially all the money you still have about you." "My money, gentlemen? Certainly. I understand that that isnecessary. I'm surprised, indeed, that you haven't inquired about itbefore. It's true I couldn't get away anywhere. I'm sitting here whereI can be seen. But here's my money- count it- take it. That's all, Ithink." He turned it all out of his pockets; even the small change- twopieces of twenty copecks- he pulled out of his waistcoat pocket.They counted the money, which amounted to eight hundred and thirty-sixroubles, and forty copecks. "And is that all?" asked the investigating lawyer. "You stated just now in your evidence that you spent three hundredroubles at Plotnikovs'. You gave Perhotin ten, your driver twenty,here you lost two hundred, then..." Nikolay Parfenovitch reckoned it all up. Mitya helped him readily.They recollected every farthing and included it in the reckoning.Nikolay Parfenovitch hurriedly added up the total. "With this eighthundred you must have had about fifteen hundred at first?" "I suppose so," snapped Mitya. "How is it they all assert there was much more?" "Let them assert it." "But you asserted it yourself." "Yes, I did, too." "We will compare all this with the evidence of other persons notyet examined. Don't be anxious about your money. It will be properlytaken care of and be at your disposal at the conclusion of... whatis beginning... if it appears, or, so to speak, is proved that youhave undisputed right to it. Well, and now..." Nikolay Parfenovitch suddenly got up, and informed Mitya firmlythat it was his duty and obligation to conduct a minute and thoroughsearch "of your clothes and everything else..." "By all means, gentlemen. I'll turn out all my pockets, if youlike." And he did, in fact, begin turning out his pockets. "It will be necessary to take off your clothes, too." "What! Undress? Ugh! Damn it! Won't you search me as I am? Can'tyou?" "It's utterly impossible, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. You must take offyour clothes." "As you like," Mitya submitted gloomily; "only, please, nothere, but behind the curtains. Who will search them?" "Behind the curtains, of course." Nikolay Parfenovitch bent his head in assent. His small facewore an expression of peculiar solemnity. Chapter 6 The Prosecutor Catches Mitya

SOMETHING utterly unexpected and amazing to Mitya followed. Hecould never, even a minute before, have conceived that anyone couldbehave like that to him, Mitya Karamazov. What was worst of all, therewas something humiliating in it, and on their side something"supercilious and scornful." It was nothing to take off his coat,but he was asked to undress further, or rather not asked but"commanded," he quite understood that. From pride and contempt hesubmitted without a word. Several peasants accompanied the lawyers andremained on the same side of the curtain. "To be ready if force isrequired," thought Mitya, "and perhaps for some other reason, too." "Well, must I take off my shirt, too?" he asked sharply, butNikolay Parfenovitch did not answer. He was busily engaged with theprosecutor in examining the coat, the trousers, the waistcoat andthe cap; and it was evident that they were both much interested in thescrutiny. "They make no bones about it," thought Mitya, "they don'tkeep up the most elementary politeness." "I ask you for the second time- need I take off my shirt ornot?" he said, still more sharply and irritably. "Don't trouble yourself. We will tell you what to do," NikolayParfenovitch said, and his voice was positively peremptory, or so itseemed to Mitya. Meantime a consultation was going on in undertones between thelawyers. There turned out to be on the coat, especially on the leftside at the back, a huge patch of blood, dry, and still stiff. Therewere bloodstains on the trousers, too. Nikolay Parfenovitch, moreover,in the presence of the peasant witnesses, passed his fingers along thecollar, the cuffs, and all the seams of the coat and trousers,obviously looking for something- money, of course. He didn't even hidefrom Mitya his suspicion that he was capable of sewing money up in hisclothes. "He treats me not as an officer but as a thief," Mitya muttered tohimself. They communicated their ideas to one another with amazingfrankness. The secretary, for instance, who was also behind thecurtain, fussing about and listening, called Nikolay Parfenovitch'sattention to the cap, which they were also fingering. "You remember Gridyenko, the copying clerk," observed thesecretary. "Last summer he received the wages of the whole office, andpretended to have lost the money when he was drunk. And where was itfound? Why, in just such pipings in his cap. The hundred-roublenotes were screwed up in little rolls and sewed in the piping." Both the lawyers remembered Gridyenko's case perfectly, and solaid aside Mitya's cap, and decided that all his clothes must bemore thoroughly examined later. "Excuse me," cried Nikolay Parfenovitch, suddenly, noticing thatthe right cuff of Mitya's shirt was turned in, and covered with blood,"excuse me, what's that, blood?" "Yes," Mitya jerked out. "That is, what blood?... and why is the cuff turned in?" Mitya told him how he had got the sleeve stained with bloodlooking after Grigory, and had turned it inside when he was washinghis hands at Perhotin's. "You must take off your shirt, too. That's very important asmaterial evidence." Mitya flushed red and flew into a rage. "What, am I to stay naked?" he shouted. "Don't disturb yourself. We will arrange something. Andmeanwhile take off your socks." "You're not joking? Is that really necessary?" Mitya's eyes flashed. "We are in no mood for joking," answered Nikolay Parfenovitchsternly. "Well, if I must-" muttered Mitya, and sitting down on the bed, hetook off his socks. He felt unbearably awkward. All were clothed,while he was naked, and strange to say, when he was undressed hefelt somehow guilty in their presence, and was almost ready to believehimself that he was inferior to them, and that now they had aperfect right to despise him. "When all are undressed, one is somehow not ashamed, but whenone's the only one undressed and everybody is looking, it'sdegrading," he kept repeating to himself, again and again. "It'slike a dream; I've sometimes dreamed of being in such degradingpositions." It was a misery to him to take off his socks. They werevery dirty, and so were his underclothes, and now everyone could seeit. And what was worse, he disliked his feet. All his life he hadthought both his big toes hideous. He particularly loathed the coarse,flat, crooked nail on the right one, and now they would all see it.Feeling intolerably ashamed made him, at once and intentionally,rougher. He pulled off his shirt, himself. "Would you like to look anywhere else if you're not ashamed to?" "No, there's no need to, at present." "Well, am I to stay naked like this?" he added savagely. "Yes, that can't be helped for the time.... Kindly sit down herefor a while. You can wrap yourself in a quilt from the bed, and I...I'll see to all this." All the things were shown to the witnesses. The report of thesearch was drawn up, and at last Nikolay Parfenovitch went out, andthe clothes were carried out after him. Ippolit Kirillovitch went out,too. Mitya was left alone with the peasants, who stood in silence,never taking their eyes off him. Mitya wrapped himself up in thequilt. He felt cold. His bare feet stuck out, and he couldn't pull thequilt over so as to cover them. Nikolay Parfenovitch seemed to be gonea long time, "an insufferable time." "He thinks of me as a puppy," thought Mitya, gnashing his teeth."That rotten prosecutor has gone, too, contemptuous no doubt, itdisgusts him to see me naked!" Mitya imagined, however, that his clothes would be examined andreturned to him. But what was his indignation when NikolayParfenovitch came back with quite different clothes, brought in behindhim by a peasant. "Here are clothes for you," he observed airily, seeming wellsatisfied with the success of his mission. "Mr. Kalganov has kindlyprovided these for this unusual emergency, as well as a clean shirt.Luckily he had them all in his trunk. You can keep your own socksand underclothes." Mitya flew into a passion. "I won't have other people's clothes!" he shouted menacingly,"give me my own!" "It's impossible!" "Give me my own. Damn Kalganov and his clothes, too!" It was a long time before they could persuade him. But theysucceeded somehow in quieting him down. They impressed upon him thathis clothes, being stained with blood, must be "included with theother material evidence," and that they "had not even the right to lethim have them now... taking into consideration the possible outcome ofthe case." Mitya at last understood this. He subsided into gloomysilence and hurriedly dressed himself. He merely observed, as he putthem on, that the clothes were much better than his old ones, and thathe disliked "gaining by the change." The coat was, besides,"ridiculously tight. Am I to be dressed up like a fool... for youramusement?" They urged upon him again that he was exaggerating, thatKalganov was only a little taller, so that only the trousers mightbe a little too long. But the coat turned out to be really tight inthe shoulders. "Damn it all! I can hardly button it," Mitya grumbled. "Be so goodas to tell Mr. Kalganov from me that I didn't ask for his clothes, andit's not my doing that they've dressed me up like a clown." "He understands that, and is sorry... I mean, not sorry to lendyou his clothes, but sorry about all this business," mumbled NikolayParfenovitch. "Confound his sorrow! Well, where now? Am I to go on sittinghere?" He was asked to go back to the "other room." Mitya went in,scowling with anger, and trying to avoid looking at anyone. Dressed inanother man's clothes he felt himself disgraced, even in the eyes ofthe peasants, and of Trifon Borissovitch, whose face appeared, forsome reason, in the doorway, and vanished immediately. "He's come tolook at me dressed up," thought Mitya. He sat down on the same chairas before. He had an absurd nightmarish feeling, as though he were outof his mind. "Well, what now? Are you going to flog me? That's all that'sleft for you," he said, clenching his teeth and addressing theprosecutor. He would not turn to Nikolay Parfenovitch, as though hedisdained to speak to him. "He looked too closely at my socks, and turned them inside outon purpose to show everyone how dirty they were- the scoundrel!" "Well, now we must proceed to the examination of witnesses,"observed Nikolay Parfenovitch, as though in reply to Mitya's question. "Yes," said the prosecutor thoughtfully, as though reflecting onsomething. "We've done what we could in your interest, DmitriFyodorovitch," Nikolay Parfenovitch went on, "but having received fromyou such an uncompromising refusal to explain to us the source fromwhich you obtained the money found upon you, we are, at the presentmoment-" "What is the stone in your ring?" Mitya interrupted suddenly, asthough awakening from a reverie. He pointed to one of the threelarge rings adorning Nikolay Parfenovitch's right hand. "Ring?" repeated Nikolay Parfenovitch with surprise. "Yes, that one... on your middle finger, with the little veinsin it, what stone is that?" Mitya persisted, like a peevish child. "That's a smoky topaz," said Nikolay Parfenovitch, smiling. "Wouldyou like to look at it? I'll take it off..." "No, don't take it off," cried Mitya furiously, suddenly wakingup, and angry with himself. "Don't take it off... there's noneed.... Damn it!... Gentlemen, you've sullied my heart! Can yousuppose that I would conceal it from you, if I had really killed myfather, that I would shuffle, lie, and hide myself? No, that's notlike Dmitri Karamazov, that he couldn't do, and if I were guilty, Iswear I shouldn't have waited for your coming, or for the sunrise as Imeant at first, but should have killed myself before this, withoutwaiting for the dawn! I know that about myself now. I couldn't havelearnt so much in twenty years as I've found out in this accursednight!... And should I have been like this on this night, and atthis moment, sitting with you, could I have talked like this, couldI have moved like this, could I have looked at you and at the worldlike this, if I had really been the murderer of my father, when thevery thought of having accidentally killed Grigory gave me no peaceall night- not from fear- oh, not simply from fear of your punishment!The disgrace of it! And you expect me to be open with such scoffers asyou, who see nothing and believe in nothing, blind moles and scoffers,and to tell you another nasty thing I've done, another disgrace,even if that would save me from your accusation! No, better Siberia!The man who opened the door to my father and went in at that door,he killed him, he robbed him. Who was he? I'm racking my brains andcan't think who. But I can tell you it was not Dmitri Karamazov, andthat's all I can tell you, and that's enough, enough, leave mealone.... Exile me, punish me, but don't bother me any more. I'llsay no more. Call your witnesses!" Mitya uttered his sudden monologue as though he were determined tobe absolutely silent for the future. The prosecutor watched him thewhole time and only when he had ceased speaking, observed, as thoughit were the most ordinary thing, with the most frigid and composedair: "Oh, about the open door of which you spoke just now, we may aswell inform you, by the way, now, of a very interesting piece ofevidence of the greatest importance both to you and to us, that hasbeen given us by Grigory, the old man you wounded. On his recovery, heclearly and emphatically stated, in reply to our questions, that when,on coming out to the steps, and hearing a noise in the garden, he madeup his mind to go into it through the little gate which stood open,before he noticed you running, as you have told us already, in thedark from the open window where you saw your father, he, Grigory,glanced to the left, and, while noticing the open window, observedat the same time, much nearer to him, the door, standing wide open-that door which you have stated to have been shut the whole time youwere in the garden. I will not conceal from you that Grigory himselfconfidently affirms and bears witness that you must have run from thatdoor, though, of course, he did not see you do so with his own eyes,since he only noticed you first some distance away in the garden,running towards the fence." Mitya had leapt up from his chair half-way through this speech. "Nonsense!" he yelled, in a sudden frenzy, "it's a barefacedlie. He couldn't have seen the door open because it was shut. He'slying!" "I consider it my duty to repeat that he is firm in his statement.He does not waver. He adheres to it. We've cross-examined himseveral times." "Precisely. I have cross-examined him several times," NikolayParfenovitch confirmed warmly. "It's false, false! It's either an attempt to slander me, or thehallucination of a madman," Mitya still shouted. "He's simplyraving, from loss of blood, from the wound. He must have fancied itwhen he came to.... He's raving." "Yes, but he noticed the open door, not when he came to afterhis injuries, but before that, as soon as he went into the garden fromthe lodge." "But it's false, it's false! It can't be so! He's slandering mefrom spite.... He couldn't have seen it... I didn't come from thedoor," gasped Mitya. The prosecutor turned to Nikolay Parfenovitch and said to himimpressively: "Confront him with it." "Do you recognise this object?" Nikolay Parfenovitch laid upon the table a large and thickofficial envelope, on which three seals still remained intact. Theenvelope was empty, and slit open at one end. Mitya stared at itwith open eyes. "It... it must be that envelope of my father's, the envelopethat contained the three thousand roubles... and if there'sinscribed on it, allow me, 'For my little chicken'... yes- threethousand!" he shouted, "do you see, three thousand, do you see?" "Of course, we see. But we didn't find the money in it. It wasempty, and lying on the floor by the bed, behind the screen." For some seconds Mitya stood as though thunderstruck. "Gentlemen, it's Smerdyakov!" he shouted suddenly, at the top ofhis voice. "It's he who's murdered him! He's robbed him! No one elseknew where the old man hid the envelope. It's Smerdyakov, that'sclear, now!" "But you, too, knew of the envelope and that it was under thepillow." "I never knew it. I've never seen it. This is the first timeI've looked at it. I'd only heard of it from Smerdyakov.... He was theonly one who knew where the old man kept it hidden, I didn'tknow..." Mitya was completely breathless. "But you told us yourself that the envelope was under yourdeceased father's pillow. You especially stated that it was underthe pillow, so you must have known it." "We've got it written down," confirmed Nikolay Parfenovitch. "Nonsense! It's absurd! I'd no idea it was under the pillow. Andperhaps it wasn't under the pillow at all.... It was just a chanceguess that it was under the pillow. What does Smerdyakov say? Have youasked him where it was? What does Smerdyakov say? That's the chiefpoint.... And I went out of my way to tell lies against myself.... Itold you without thinking that it was under the pillow, and now you-Oh, you know how one says the wrong thing, without meaning it. Noone knew but Smerdyakov, only Smerdyakov, and no one else.... Hedidn't even tell me where it was! But it's his doing, his doing;there's no doubt about it, he murdered him, that's as clear asdaylight now," Mitya exclaimed more and more frantically, repeatinghimself incoherently, and growing more and more exasperated andexcited. "You must understand that, and arrest him at once.... He musthave killed him while I was running away and while Grigory wasunconscious, that's clear now.... He gave the signal and father openedto him... for no one but he knew the signal, and without the signalfather would never have opened the door...." "But you're again forgetting the circumstance," the prosecutorobserved, still speaking with the same restraint, though with a noteof triumph, "that there was no need to give the signal if the dooralready stood open when you were there, while you were in thegarden..." "The door, the door," muttered Mitya, and he stared speechlessat the prosecutor. He sank back helpless in his chair. All weresilent. "Yes, the door!... It's a nightmare! God is against me!" heexclaimed, staring before him in complete stupefaction. "Come, you see," the prosecutor went on with dignity, "and you canjudge for yourself, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. On the one hand, we havethe evidence of the open door from which you ran out, a fact whichoverwhelms you and us. On the other side, your incomprehensible,persistent, and, so to speak, obdurate silence with regard to thesource from which you obtained the money which was so suddenly seen inyour hands, when only three hours earlier, on your own showing, youpledged your pistols for the sake of ten roubles! In view of all thesefacts, judge for yourself. What are we to believe, and what can wedepend upon? And don't accuse us of being 'frigid, cynical, scoffingpeople,' who are incapable of believing in the generous impulses ofyour heart.... Try to enter into our position..." Mitya was indescribably agitated. He turned pale. "Very well!" he exclaimed suddenly, "I will tell you my secret.I'll tell you where I got the money!... I'll reveal my shame, that Imay not have to blame myself or you hereafter." "And believe me, Dmitri Fyodorovitch," put in NikolayParfenovitch, in a voice of almost pathetic delight, "that everysincere and complete confession on your part at this moment may, lateron, have an immense influence in your favour, and may, indeed,moreover-" But the prosecutor gave him a slight shove under the table, and hechecked himself in time. Mitya, it is true, had not heard him. Chapter 7 Mitya's Great Secret Received with Hisses

"GENTLEMEN," he began, still in the same agitation, "I want tomake a full confession: that money was my own." The lawyer's faces lengthened. That was not at all what theyexpected. "How do you mean?" faltered Nikolay Parfenovitch, "when at fiveo'clock on the same day, from your own confession-" "Damn five o'clock on the same day and my own confession! That'snothing to do with it now! That money was my own, my own, that is,stolen by me...not mine, I mean, but stolen by me, and it wasfifteen hundred roubles, and I had it on me all the time, all thetime..." "But where did you get it?" "I took it off my neck, gentlemen, off this very neck... it washere, round my neck, sewn up in a rag, and I'd had it round my necka long time, it's a month since I put it round my neck... to myshame and disgrace!" "And from whom did you... appropriate it?" "You mean, 'steal it'? Speak out plainly now. Yes, I consider thatI practically stole it, but, if you prefer, I 'appropriated it.' Iconsider I stole it. And last night I stole it finally." "Last night? But you said that it's a month since you...obtained it?..." "Yes. But not from my father. Not from my father, don't be uneasy.I didn't steal it from my father, but from her. Let me tell youwithout interrupting. It's hard to do, you know. You see, a month ago,I was sent for by Katerina Ivanovna, formerly my betrothed. Do youknow her?" "Yes, of course." "I know you know her. She's a noble creature, noblest of thenoble. But she has hated me ever so long, oh, ever so long... andhated me with good reason, good reason!" "Katerina Ivanovna!" Nikolay Parfenovitch exclaimed with wonder.The prosecutor, too, stared. "Oh, don't take her name in vain! I'm a scoundrel to bring herinto it. Yes, I've seen that she hated me... a long while.... From thevery first, even that evening at my lodging... but enough, enough.You're unworthy even to know of that. No need of that at all.... Ineed only tell you that she sent for me a month ago, gave me threethousand roubles to send off to her sister and another relation inMoscow (as though she couldn't have sent it off herself!) and I...it was just at that fatal moment in my life when I... well, in fact,when I'd just come to love another, her, she's sitting down below now,Grushenka. I carried her off here to Mokroe then, and wasted here intwo days half that damned three thousand, but the other half I kept onme. Well, I've kept that other half, that fifteen hundred, like alocket round my neck, but yesterday I undid it, and spent it. What'sleft of it, eight hundred roubles, is in your hands now, NikolayParfenovitch. That's the change out of the fifteen hundred I hadyesterday." "Excuse me. How's that? Why, when you were here a month ago youspent three thousand, not fifteen hundred, everybody knows that." "Who knows it? Who counted the money? Did I let anyone count it?" "Why, you told everyone yourself that you'd spent exactly threethousand." "It's true, I did. I told the whole town so, and the whole townsaid so. And here, at Mokroe, too, everyone reckoned it was threethousand. Yet I didn't spend three thousand, but fifteen hundred.And the other fifteen hundred I sewed into a little bag. That's how itwas, gentlemen. That's where I got that money yesterday...." "This is almost miraculous," murmured Nikolay Parfenovitch. "Allow me to inquire," observed the prosecutor at last, "haveyou informed anyone whatever of this circumstance before; I meanthat you had fifteen hundred left about you a month ago?" "I told no one." "That's strange. Do you mean absolutely no one?" "Absolutely no one. No one and nobody." "What was your reason for this reticence? What was your motive formaking such a secret of it? To be more precise: You have told us atlast your secret, in your words, so 'disgraceful,' though inreality- that is, of course, comparatively speaking- this action, thatis, the appropriation of three thousand roubles belonging to someoneelse, and, of course, only for a time is, in my view at least, only anact of the greatest recklessness and not so disgraceful, when onetakes into consideration your character.... Even admitting that it wasan action in the highest degree discreditable, still, discreditable isnot 'disgraceful.'... Many people have already guessed, during thislast month, about the three thousand of Katerina Ivanovna's that youhave spent, and I heard the legend myself, apart from yourconfession.... Mihail Makarovitch, for instance, had heard it, too, sothat indeed, it was scarcely a legend, but the gossip of the wholetown. There are indications, too, if I am not mistaken, that youconfessed this yourself to someone, I mean that the money was KaterinaIvanovna's, and so, it's extremely surprising to me that hitherto,that is, up to the present moment, you have made such an extraordinarysecret of the fifteen hundred you say you put by, apparentlyconnecting a feeling of positive horror with that secret.... It'snot easy to believe that it could cost you such distress to confesssuch a secret.... You cried out, just now, that Siberia would bebetter than confessing it..." The prosecutor ceased speaking. He was provoked. He did notconceal his vexation, which was almost anger, and gave vent to all hisaccumulated spleen, disconnectedly and incoherently, withoutchoosing words. "It's not the fifteen hundred that's the disgrace, but that Iput it apart from the rest of the three thousand," said Mitya firmly. "Why?" smiled the prosecutor irritably. "What is theredisgraceful, to your thinking, in your having set aside half of thethree thousand you had discreditably, if you prefer,'disgracefully,' appropriated? Your taking the three thousand ismore important than what you did with it. And by the way, why didyou do that- why did you set apart that half, for what purpose, forwhat object did you do it? Can you explain that to us?" "Oh, gentlemen, the purpose is the whole point!" cried Mitya. "Iput it aside because I was vile, that is, because I was calculating,and to be calculating in such a case is vile... and that vilenesshas been going on a whole month." "It's incomprehensible." "I wonder at you. But I'll make it clearer. Perhaps it really isincomprehensible. You see, attend to what I say. I appropriate threethousand entrusted to my honour; I spend it on a spree, say I spend itall, and next morning I go to her and say, 'Katya, I've done wrong,I've squandered your three thousand'; well, is that right? No, it'snot right- it's dishonest and cowardly; I'm a beast, with no moreself-control than a beast, that's so, isn't it? But still I'm not athief? Not a downright thief, you'll admit! I squandered it, but Ididn't steal it. Now a second, rather more favourable alternative:follow me carefully, or I may get confused again- my head's goinground- and so, for the second alternative: I spend here only fifteenhundred out of the three thousand, that is, only half. Next day I goand take that half to her: 'Katya, take this fifteen hundred fromme, I'm a low beast, and an untrustworthy scoundrel, for I've wastedhalf the money, and I shall waste this, too, so keep me fromtemptation!' Well, what of that alternative? I should be a beast and ascoundrel, and whatever you like; but not a thief, not altogether athief, or I should not have brought back what was left, but havekept that, too. She would see at once that since I brought backhalf, I should pay back what I'd spent, that I should never give uptrying to, that I should work to get it and pay it back. So in thatcase I should be a scoundrel, but not a thief, you may say what youlike, not a thief!" "I admit that there is a certain distinction," said theprosecutor, with a cold smile. "But it's strange that you see such avital difference." "Yes, I see a vital difference. Every man may be a scoundrel,and perhaps every man is a scoundrel, but not everyone can be a thief;it takes an arch-scoundrel to be that. Oh, of course, I don't know howto make these fine distinctions... but a thief is lower than ascoundrel, that's my conviction. Listen, I carry the money about mea whole month; I may make up my mind to give it back to-morrow, andI'm a scoundrel no longer; but I cannot make up my mind, you see,though I'm making up my mind every day, and every day spurringmyself on to do it, and yet for a whole month I can't bring myselfto it, you see. Is that right to your thinking, is that right?" "Certainly, that's not right; that I can quite understand, andthat I don't dispute," answered the prosecutor with reserve. "Andlet us give up all discussion of these subtleties and distinctions,and, if you will be so kind, get back to the point. And the pointis, that you have still not told us, although we've asked you, why, inthe first place, you halved the money, squandering one half and hidingthe other? For what purpose exactly did you hide it, what did you meanto do with that fifteen hundred? I insist upon that question, DmitriFyodorovitch." "Yes, of course!" cried Mitya, striking himself on the forehead;"forgive me, I'm worrying you, and am not explaining the chiefpoint, or you'd understand in a minute, for it's just the motive of itthat's the disgrace! You see, it was all to do with the old man, mydead father. He was always pestering Agrafena and I was jealous; Ithought then that she was hesitating between me and him. So I keptthinking everyday, suppose she were to make up her mind all of asudden, suppose she were to leave off tormenting me, and were suddenlyto say to me, 'I love you, not him; take me to the other end of theworld.' And I'd only forty copecks; how could I take her away, whatcould I do? Why, I'd be lost. You see, I didn't know her then, Ididn't understand her, I thought she wanted money, and that shewouldn't forgive my poverty. And so I fiendishly counted out thehalf of that three thousand, sewed it up, calculating on it, sewedit up before I was drunk, and after I had sewn it up, I went off toget drunk on the rest. Yes, that was base. Do you understand now?" Both the lawyers laughed aloud. "I should have called it sensible and moral on your part not tohave squandered it all," chuckled Nikolay Parfenovitch, "for after allwhat does it amount to?" "Why, that I stole it, that's what it amounts to! Oh, God, youhorrify me by not understanding! Every day that I had that fifteenhundred sewn up round my neck, every day and every hour I said tomyself, 'You're a thief! you're a thief!' Yes, that's why I've been sosavage all this month, that's why I fought in the tavern, that's why Iattacked my father, it was because I felt I was a thief. I couldn'tmake up my mind; I didn't dare even to tell Alyosha, my brother, aboutthat fifteen hundred: I felt I was such a scoundrel and such apickpocket. But, do you know, while I carried it I said to myself atthe same time every hour: 'No, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, you may yet not bea thief.' Why? Because I might go next day and pay back that fifteenhundred to Katya. And only yesterday I made up my mind to tear myamulet off my neck, on my way from Fenya's to Perhotin. I hadn'tbeen able till that moment to bring myself to it. And it was only whenI tore it off that I became a downright thief, a thief and a dishonestman for the rest of my life. Why? Because, with that I destroyed, too,my dream of going to Katya and saying, 'I'm a scoundrel, but not athief! Do you understand now? Do you understand?" "What was it made you decide to do it yesterday?" NikolayParfenovitch interrupted. "Why? It's absurd to ask. Because I had condemned myself to die atfive o'clock this morning, here, at dawn. I thought it made nodifference whether I died a thief or a man of honour. But I see it'snot so, it turns out that it does make a difference. Believe me,gentlemen, what has tortured me most during this night has not beenthe thought that I'd killed the old servant, and that I was indanger of Siberia just when my love was being rewarded, and Heaven wasopen to me again. Oh, that did torture me, but not in the same way;not so much as the damned consciousness that I had torn that damnedmoney off my breast at last and spent it, and had become a downrightthief! Oh, gentlemen, I tell you again, with a bleeding heart, Ihave learnt a great deal this night. I have learnt that it's notonly impossible to live a scoundrel, but impossible to die ascoundrel.... No, gentlemen, one must die honest..." Mitya was pale. His face had a haggard and exhausted look, inspite of his being intensely excited. "I am beginning to understand you, Dmitri Fyodorovitch," theprosecutor said slowly, a soft and almost compassionate tone. "But allthis, if you'll excuse my saying so, is a matter of nerves, in myopinion... your overwrought nerves, that's what it is. And why, forinstance, should you not have saved yourself such misery for almosta month, by going and returning that fifteen hundred to the lady whohad entrusted it to you? And why could you not have explained thingsto her, and in view of your position, which you describe as being soawful, why could you not have had recourse to the plan which wouldso naturally have occurred to one's mind, that is, after honourablyconfessing your errors to her, why could you not have asked her tolend you the sum needed for your expenses, which, with her generousheart, she would certainly not have refused you in your distress,especially if it had been with some guarantee, or even on the securityyou offered to the merchant Samsonov, and to Madame Hohlakov? Isuppose you still regard that security as of value?" Mitya suddenly crimsoned. "Surely you don't think me such an out and out scoundrel asthat? You can't be speaking in earnest?" he said, with indignation,looking the prosecutor straight in the face, and seeming unable tobelieve his ears. "I assure you I'm in earnest... Why do you imagine I'm notserious?" It was the prosecutor's turn to be surprised. "Oh, how base that would have been! Gentlemen, do you know, youare torturing me! Let me tell you everything, so be it. I'll confessall my infernal wickedness, but to put you to shame, and you'll besurprised yourselves at the depth of ignominy to which a medley ofhuman passions can sink. You must know that I already had that planmyself, that plan you spoke of, just now, prosecutor! Yes,gentlemen, I, too, have had that thought in my mind all this currentmonth, so that I was on the point of deciding to go to Katya- I wasmean enough for that. But to go to her, to tell her of my treachery,and for that very treachery, to carry it out, for the expenses of thattreachery, to beg for money from her, Katya (to beg, do you hear, tobeg), and go straight from her to run away with the other, therival, who hated and insulted her- to think of it! You must be mad,prosecutor!" "Mad I am not, but I did speak in haste, without thinking... ofthat feminine jealousy... if there could be jealousy in this case,as you assert... yes, perhaps there is something of the kind," saidthe prosecutor, smiling. "But that would have been so infamous!" Mitya brought his fistdown on the table fiercely. "That would have been filthy beyondeverything! Yes, do you know that she might have given me thatmoney, yes, and she would have given it, too; she'd have beencertain to give it, to be revenged on me, she'd have given it tosatisfy her vengeance, to show her contempt for me, for hers is aninfernal nature, too, and she's a woman of great wrath. I'd have takenthe money, too, oh, I should have taken it; I should have taken it,and then, for the rest of my life... oh, God! Forgive me, gentlemen,I'm making such an outcry because I've had that thought in my mindso lately, only the day before yesterday, that night when I was havingall that bother with Lyagavy, and afterwards yesterday, all dayyesterday, I remember, till that happened..." "Till what happened?" put in Nikolay Parfenovitch inquisitively,but Mitya did not hear it. "I have made you an awful confession," Mitya said gloomily inconclusion. "You must appreciate it, and what's more, you must respectit, for if not, if that leaves your souls untouched, then you'vesimply no respect for me, gentlemen, I tell you that, and I shalldie of shame at having confessed it to men like you! Oh, I shall shootmyself! Yes, I see, I see already that you don't believe me. What, youwant to write that down, too?" he cried in dismay. "Yes, what you said just now," said Nikolay Parfenovitch,looking at him surprise, "that is, that up to the last hour you werestill contemplating going to Katerina Ivanovna to beg that sum fromher.... I assure you, that's a very important piece of evidence forus, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, I mean for the whole case... and particularlyfor you, particularly important for you." "Have mercy, gentlemen!" Mitya flung up his hands. "Don't writethat, anyway; have some shame. Here I've torn my heart asunderbefore you, and you seize the opportunity and are fingering the woundsin both halves.... Oh, my God!" In despair he hid his face in his hands. "Don't worry yourself so, Dmitri Fyodorovitch," observed theprosecutor, "everything that is written down will be read over toyou afterwards, and what you don't agree to we'll alter as you like.But now I'll ask you one little question for the second time. Has noone, absolutely no one, heard from you of that money you sewed up?That, I must tell you, is almost impossible to believe." "No one, no one, I told you so before, or you've not understoodanything! Let me alone!" "Very well, this matter is bound to be explained, and there'splenty of time for it, but meantime, consider; we have perhaps a dozenwitnesses that you yourself spread it abroad, and even shoutedalmost everywhere about the three thousand you'd spent here; threethousand, not fifteen hundred. And now, too, when you got hold ofthe money you had yesterday, you gave many people to understand thatyou had brought three thousand with you." "You've got not dozens, but hundreds of witnesses, two hundredwitnesses, two hundred have heard it, thousands have heard it!"cried Mitya. "Well, you see, all bear witness to it. And the word all meanssomething." "It means nothing. I talked rot, and everyone began repeating it." "But what need had you to 'talk rot,' as you call it?" "The devil knows. From bravado perhaps... at having wasted so muchmoney.... To try and forget that money I had sewn up, perhaps...yes, that was why... damn it... how often will you ask me thatquestion? Well, I told a fib, and that was the end of it; once I'dsaid it, I didn't care to correct it. What does a man tell lies forsometimes?" "That's very difficult to decide, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, whatmakes a man tell lies," observed the prosecutor impressively. "Tellme, though, was that 'amulet,' as you call it, on your neck, a bigthing?" "No, not big." "How big, for instance?" "If you fold a hundred-rouble note in half, that would be thesize." "You'd better show us the remains of it. You must have themsomewhere." "Damnation, what nonsense! I don't know where they are." "But excuse me: where and when did you take it off your neck?According to your own evidence you didn't go home." "When I was going from Fenya's to Perhotin's, on the way I tore itoff my neck and took out the money." "In the dark?" "What should I want a light for? I did it with my fingers in oneminute." "Without scissors, in the street?" "In the market-place I think it was. Why scissors? It was an oldrag. It was torn in a minute." "Where did you put it afterwards?" "I dropped it there." "Where was it, exactly?" "In the market-place, in the market-place! The devil knowswhereabouts. What do you want to know for?" "That's extremely important, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. It would bematerial evidence in your favour. How is it you don't understand that?Who helped you to sew it up a month ago?" "No one helped me. I did it myself." "Can you sew?" "A soldier has to know how to sew. No knowledge was needed to dothat." "Where did you get the material, that is, the rag in which yousewed the money?" "Are you laughing at me?" "Not at all. And we are in no mood for laughing, DmitriFyodorovitch." "I don't know where I got the rag from- somewhere, I suppose." "I should have thought you couldn't have forgotten it?" "Upon my word, I don't remember. I might have torn a bit off mylinen." "That's very interesting. We might find in your lodgings to-morrowthe shirt or whatever it is from which you tore the rag. What sortof rag was it, cloth or linen?" "Goodness only knows what it was. Wait a bit... I believe I didn'ttear it off anything. It was a bit of calico.... I believe I sewedit up in a cap of my landlady's." "In your landlady's cap?" "Yes. I took it from her." "How did you get it?" "You see, I remember once taking a cap for a rag, perhaps towipe my pen on. I took it without asking, because it was a worthlessrag. I tore it up, and I took the notes and sewed them up in it. Ibelieve it was in that very rag I sewed them. An old piece ofcalico, washed a thousand times." "And you remember that for certain now?" "I don't know whether for certain. I think it was in the cap. But,hang it, what does it matter?" "In that case your landlady will remember that the thing waslost?" "No, she won't, she didn't miss it. It was an old rag, I tell you,an old rag not worth a farthing." "And where did you get the needle and thread?" "I'll stop now. I won't say any more. Enough of it!" said Mitya,losing his temper at last. "It's strange that you should have so completely forgotten whereyou threw the pieces in the market-place." "Give orders for the market-place to be swept to-morrow, andperhaps you'll find it," said Mitya sneering. "Enough, gentlemen,enough!" he decided, in an exhausted voice. "I see you don't believeme! Not for a moment! It's my fault, not yours. I ought not to havebeen so ready. Why, why did I degrade myself by confessing my secretto you? it's a joke to you. I see that from your eyes. You led me onto it, prosecutor! Sing a hymn of triumph if you can.... Damn you, youtorturers!" He bent his head, and hid his face in his hands. The lawyerswere silent. A minute later he raised his head and looked at themalmost vacantly. His face now expressed complete, hopeless despair,and he sat mute and passive as though hardly conscious of what washappening. In the meantime they had to finish what they were about.They had immediately to begin examining the witnesses. It was by noweight o'clock in the morning. The lights had been extinguished longago. Mihail Makarovitch and Kalganov, who had been continually inand out of the room all the while the interrogation had been going on,had now both gone out again. The lawyers, too, looked very tired. Itwas a wretched morning, the whole sky was overcast, and the rainstreamed down in bucketfuls. Mitya gazed blankly out of window. "May I look out of window?" he asked Nikolay Parfenovitch,suddenly. "Oh, as much as you like," the latter replied. Mitya got up and went to the window.... The rain lashed againstits little greenish panes. He could see the muddy road just belowthe house, and farther away, in the rain and mist, a row of poor,black, dismal huts, looking even blacker and poorer in the rain. Mityathought of "Phoebus the golden-haired, and how he had meant to shoothimself at his first ray. "Perhaps it would be even better on amorning like this," he thought with a smile, and suddenly, flinginghis hand downwards, he turned to his "torturers." "Gentlemen," he cried, "I see that I am lost! But she? Tell meabout her, I beseech you. Surely she need not be ruined with me? She'sinnocent, you know, she was out of her mind when she cried lastnight 'It's all my fault!' She's done nothing, nothing! I've beengrieving over her all night as I sat with you.... Can't you, won't youtell me what you are going to do with her now?" "You can set your mind quite at rest on that score, DmitriFyodorovitch," the prosecutor answered at once, with evident alacrity."We have, so far, no grounds for interfering with the lady in whom youare so interested. I trust that it may be the same in the laterdevelopment of the case.... On the contrary, we'll do everythingthat lies in our power in that matter. Set your mind completely atrest." "Gentlemen, I thank you. I knew that you were honest,straightforward people in spite of everything. You've taken a load offmy heart.... Well, what are we to do now? I'm ready." "Well, we ought to make haste. We must pass to examining thewitnesses without delay. That must be done in your presence andtherefore-" "Shouldn't we have some tea first?" interposed NikolayParfenovitch, "I think we've deserved it!" They decided that if tea were ready downstairs (Mihail Makarovitchhad, no doubt, gone down to get some) they would have a glass and then"go on and on," putting off their proper breakfast until a morefavourable opportunity. Tea really was ready below, and was soonbrought up. Mitya at first refused the glass that Nikolay Parfenovitchpolitely offered him, but afterwards he asked for it himself and drankit greedily. He looked surprisingly exhausted. It might have beensupposed from his Herculean strength that one night of carousing, evenaccompanied by the most violent emotions, could have had little effecton him. But he felt that he could hardly hold his head up, and fromtime to time all the objects about him seemed heaving and dancingbefore his eyes. "A little more and I shall begin raving," he saidto himself. Chapter 8 The Evidences of the Witnesses. The Babe

THE examination of the witnesses began. But we will not continueour story in such detail as before. And so we will not dwell on howNikolay Parfenovitch impressed on every witness called that he mustgive his evidence in accordance with truth and conscience, and that hewould afterwards have to repeat his evidence on oath, how everywitness was called upon to sign the protocol of his evidence, and soon. We will only note that the point principally insisted upon inthe examination was the question of the three thousand roubles; thatis, was the sum spent here, at Mokroe, by Mitya on the first occasion,a month before, three thousand or fifteen hundred? And again had hespent three thousand or fifteen hundred yesterday? Alas, all theevidence given by everyone turned out to be against Mitya. There wasnot one in his favour, and some witnesses introduced new, almostcrushing facts, in contradiction of his, Mitya's, story. The first witness examined was Trifon Borissovitch. He was notin the least abashed as he stood before the lawyers. He had, on thecontrary, an air of stern and severe indignation with the accused,which gave him an appearance of truthfulness and personal dignity.He spoke little, and with reserve, waited to be questioned, answeredprecisely and deliberately. Firmly and unhesitatingly he borewitness that the sum spent a month before could not have been lessthan three thousand, that all the peasants about here would testifythat they had heard the sum of three thousand mentioned by DmitriFyodorovitch himself. "What a lot of money he flung away on theGypsy girls alone! He wasted a thousand, I daresay, on them alone." "I don't believe I gave them five hundred," was Mitya's gloomycomment on this. "It's a pity I didn't count the money at the time,but I was drunk..." Mitya was sitting sideways with his back to the curtains. Helistened gloomily, with a melancholy and exhausted air, as though hewould say: "Oh, say what you like. It makes no difference now." "More than a thousand went on them, Dmitri Fyodorovitch," retortedTrifon Borissovitch firmly. "You flung it about at random and theypicked it up. They were a rascally, thievish lot, horse-stealers,they've been driven away from here, or maybe they'd bear witnessthemselves how much they got from you. I saw the sum in your hands,myself- count it I didn't, you didn't let me, that's true enough-but by the look of it I should say it was far more than fifteenhundred... fifteen hundred, indeed! We've seen money too. We can judgeof amounts..." As for the sum spent yesterday he asserted that DmitriFyodorovitch had told him, as soon as he arrived, that he hadbrought three thousand with him. "Come now, is that so, Trifon Borissovitch?" replied Mitya."Surely I didn't declare so positively that I'd brought threethousand?" "You did say so, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. You said it before Andrey.Andrey himself is still here. Send for him. And in the hall, whenyou were treating the chorus, you shouted straight out that youwould leave your sixth thousand here- that is, with what you spentbefore, we must understand. Stepan and Semyon heard it, and PyotrFomitch Kalganov, too, was standing beside you at the time. Maybe he'dremember it..." The evidence as to the "sixth" thousand made an extraordinaryimpression on the two lawyers. They were delighted with this newmode of reckoning; three and three made six, three thousand then andthree now made six, that was clear. They questioned all the peasants suggested by Trifon Borissovitch,Stepan and Semyon, the driver Andrey, and Kalganov. The peasants andthe driver unhesitatingly confirmed Trifon Borissovitch's evidence.They noted down, with particular care, Andrey's account of theconversation he had had with Mitya on the road: "'Where,' says he, 'amI, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, going, to heaven or to hell, and shall I beforgiven in the next world or not?'" The psychological IppolitKirillovitch heard this with a subtle smile, and ended by recommendingthat these remarks as to where Dmitri Fyodorovitch would go shouldbe "included in the case." Kalganov, when called, came in reluctantly, frowning andill-humoured, and he spoke to the lawyers as though he had never metthem before in his life, though they were acquaintances whom he hadbeen meeting every day for a long time past. He began by saying that"he knew nothing about it and didn't want to." But it appeared that hehad heard of the" sixth" thousand, and he admitted that he had beenstanding close by at the moment. As far as he could see he "didn'tknow" how much money Mitya had in his hands. He affirmed that thePoles had cheated at cards. In reply to reiterated questions he statedthat, after the Poles had been turned out, Mitya's position withAgrafena Alexandrovna had certainly improved, and that she had saidthat she loved him. He spoke of Agrafena Alexandrovna with reserve andrespect, as though she had been a lady of the best society, and didnot once allow himself to call her Grushenka. In spite of the youngman's obvious repugnance at giving evidence, Ippolit Kirillovitchexamined him at great length, and only from him learnt all the detailsof what made up Mitya's "romance," so to say, on that night. Mitya didnot once pull Kalganov up. At last they let the young man go, and heleft the room with unconcealed indignation. The Poles, too, were examined. Though they had gone to bed intheir room, they had not slept all night, and on the arrival of thepolice officers they hastily dressed and got ready, realising thatthey would certainly be sent for. They gave their evidence withdignity, though not without some uneasiness. The little Pole turnedout to be a retired official of the twelfth class, who had served inSiberia as a veterinary surgeon. His name was Mussyalovitch. PanVrubelvsky turned out to be an uncertificated dentist. AlthoughNikolay Parfenovitch asked them questions on entering the room theyboth addressed their answers to Mihail Makarovitch, who was standingon one side, taking him in their ignorance for the most importantperson and in command, and addressed him at every word as "PanColonel." Only after several reproofs from Mihail Makarovitch himself,they grasped that they had to address their answers to NikolayParfenovitch only. It turned out that they could speak Russian quitecorrectly except for their accent in some words. Of his relations withGrushenka, past and present, Pan Mussyalovitch spoke proudly andwarmly, so that Mitya was roused at once and declared that he wouldnot allow the "scoundrel" to speak like that in his presence! PanMussyalovitch at once called attention to the word "scoundrel," andbegged that it should be put down in the protocol. Mitya fumed withrage. "He's a scoundrel! A scoundrel! You can put that down. And putdown, too, that, in spite of the protocol I still declare that he'sa scoundrel!" he cried. Though Nikolay Parfenovitch did insert this in the protocol, heshowed the most praiseworthy tact and management. After sternlyreprimanding Mitya, he cut short all further inquiry into the romanticaspect of the case, and hastened to pass to what was essential. Onepiece of evidence given by the Poles roused special interest in thelawyers: that was how, in that very room, Mitya had tried to buy offPan Mussyalovitch, and had offered him three thousand roubles toresign his claims, seven hundred roubles down, and the remaining twothousand three hundred "to be paid next day in the town." He had swornat the time that he had not the whole sum with him at Mokroe, but thathis money was in the town. Mitya observed hotly that he had not saidthat he would be sure to pay him the remainder next day in the town.But Pan Vrublevsky confirmed the statement, and Mitya, afterthinking for a moment admitted, frowning, that it must have been asthe Poles stated, that he had been excited at the time, and mightindeed have said so. The prosecutor positively pounced on this piece of evidence. Itseemed to establish for the prosecution (and they did, in fact, basethis deduction on it) that half, or a part of, the three thousand thathad come into Mitya's hands might really have been left somewherehidden in the town, or even, perhaps, somewhere here, in Mokroe.This would explain the circumstance, so baffling for theprosecution, that only eight hundred roubles were to be found inMitya's hands. This circumstance had been the one piece of evidencewhich, insignificant as it was, had hitherto told, to some extent,in Mitya's favour. Now this one piece of evidence in his favour hadbroken down. In answer to the prosecutor's inquiry, where he wouldhave got the remaining two thousand three hundred roubles, since hehimself had denied having more than fifteen hundred, Mitya confidentlyreplied that he had meant to offer the "little chap," not money, but aformal deed of conveyance of his rights to the village ofTchermashnya, those rights which he had already offered to Samsonovand Madame Hohlakov. The prosecutor positively smiled at the"innocence of this subterfuge." "And you imagine he would have accepted such a deed as asubstitute for two thousand three hundred roubles in cash?" "He certainly would have accepted it," Mitya declared warmly."Why, look here, he might have grabbed not two thousand, but four orsix, for it. He would have put his lawyers, Poles and Jews, on tothe job, and might have got, not three thousand, but the wholeproperty out of the old man." The evidence of Pan Mussyalovitch was, of course, entered in theprotocol in the fullest detail. Then they let the Poles go. Theincident of the cheating at cards was hardly touched upon. NikolayParfenovitch was too well pleased with them, as it was, and did notwant to worry them with trifles, moreover, it was nothing but afoolish, drunken quarrel over cards. There had been drinking anddisorder enough, that night.... So the two hundred roubles remained inthe pockets of the Poles. Then old Maximov was summoned. He came in timidly, approached withlittle steps, looking very dishevelled and depressed. He had, all thistime, taken refuge below with Grushenka, sitting dumbly beside her,and "now and then he'd begin blubbering over her and wiping his eyeswith a blue check handkerchief," as Mihail Makarovitch describedafterwards. So that she herself began trying to pacify and comforthim. The old man at once confessed that he had done wrong, that he hadborrowed "ten roubles in my poverty," from Dmitri Fyodorovitch, andthat he was ready to pay it back. To Nikolay Parfenovitch's directquestion, had he noticed how much money Dmitri Fyodorovitch held inhis hand, as he must have been able to see the sum better thananyone when he took the note from him, Maximov, in the most positivemanner, declared that there was twenty thousand. "Have you ever seen so much as twenty thousand before, then?"inquired Nikolay Parfenovitch, with a smile. "To be sure I have, not twenty, but seven, when my wifemortgaged my little property. She'd only let me look at it from adistance, boasting of it to me. It was a very thick bundle, allrainbow-coloured notes. And Dmitri Fyodorovitch's were allrainbow-coloured..." He was not kept long. At last it was Grushenka's turn. NikolayParfenovitch was obviously apprehensive of the effect her appearancemight have on Mitya, and he muttered a few words of admonition to him,but Mitya bowed his head in silence, giving him to understand "that hewould not make a scene." Mihail Makarovitch himself led Grushenkain. She entered with a stern and gloomy face, that looked almostcomposed, and sat down quietly on the chair offered her by NikolayParfenovitch. She was very pale, she seemed to be cold, and wrappedherself closely in her magnificent black shawl. She was suffering froma slight feverish chill- the first symptom of the long illness whichfollowed that night. Her grave air, her direct earnest look andquiet manner made a very favourable impression on everyone. NikolayParfenovitch was even a little bit "fascinated." He admittedhimself, when talking about it afterwards, that only then had heseen "how handsome the woman was," for, though he had seen her severaltimes he had always looked upon her as something of a "provincialhetaira." "She has the manners of the best society," he saidenthusiastically, gossiping about her in a circle of ladies. Butthis was received with positive indignation by the ladies, whoimmediately called him a "naughty man," to his great satisfaction. As she entered the room, Grushenka only glanced for an instantat Mitya, who looked at her uneasily. But her face reassured him atonce. After the first inevitable inquiries and warnings, NikolayParfenovitch asked her, hesitating a little, but preserving the mostcourteous manner, on what terms she was with the retired lieutenant,Dmitri Fyodorovitch Karamazov. To this Grushenka firmly and quietlyreplied: "He was an acquaintance. He came to see me as an acquaintanceduring the last month." To further inquisitive questions sheanswered plainly and with complete frankness, that, though "attimes" she had thought him attractive, she had not loved him, buthad won his heart as well as his old father's "in my nasty spite,"that she had seen that Mitya was very jealous of Fyodor Pavlovitch andeveryone else; but that had only amused her. She had never meant to goto Fyodor Pavlovitch, she had simply been laughing at him. "I had nothoughts for either of them all this last month. I was expectinganother man who had wronged me. But I think," she said inconclusion, "that there's no need for you to inquire about that, norfor me to answer you, for that's my own affair." Nikolay Parfenovitch immediately acted upon this hint. He againdismissed the "romantic" aspect of the case and passed to theserious one, that is, to the question of most importance, concerningthe three thousand roubles. Grushenka confirmed the statement thatthree thousand roubles had certainly been spent on the firstcarousal at Mokroe, and, though she had not counted the money herself,she had heard that it was three thousand from Dmitri Fyodorovitch'sown lips. "Did he tell you that alone, or before someone else, or did youonly hear him speak of it to others in your presence?" theprosecutor inquired immediately. To which Grushenka replied that she had heard him say so beforeother people, and had heard him say so when they were alone. "Did he say it to you alone once, or several times?" inquiredthe prosecutor, and learned that he had told Grushenka so severaltimes. Ippolit Kirillovitch was very well satisfied with this piece ofevidence. Further examination elicited that Grushenka knew, too, wherethat money had come from, and that Dmitri Fyodorovitch had got it fromKaterina Ivanovna. "And did you never, once, hear that the money spent a month agowas not three thousand, but less, and that Dmitri Fyodorovitch hadsaved half that sum for his own use?" "No, I never heard that," answered Grushenka. It was explained further that Mitya had, on the contrary, oftentold her that he hadn't a farthing. "He was always expecting to get some from his father," saidGrushenka in conclusion. "Did he never say before you... casually, or in a moment ofirritation," Nikolay Parfenovitch put in suddenly, "that he intendedto make an attempt on his father's life?" "Ach, he did say so," sighed Grushenka. "Once or several times?" "He mentioned it several times, always in anger." "And did you believe he would do it?" "No, I never believed it," she answered firmly. "I had faith inhis noble heart." "Gentlemen, allow me," cried Mitya suddenly, "allow me to sayone word to Agrafena Alexandrovna, in your presence." "You can speak," Nikolay Parfenovitch assented. "Agrafena Alexandrovna!" Mitya got up from his chair, "havefaith in God and in me. I am not guilty of my father's murder!" Having uttered these words Mitya sat down again on his chair.Grushenka stood up and crossed herself devoutly before the ikon. "Thanks be to Thee, O Lord," she said, in a voice thrilled withemotion, and still standing, she turned to Nikolay Parfenovitch andadded: "As he has spoken now, believe it! I know him. He'll sayanything as a joke or from obstinacy, but he'll never deceive youagainst his conscience. He's telling the whole truth, you maybelieve it." "Thanks, Agrafena Alexandrovna, you've given me fresh courage,"Mitya responded in a quivering voice. As to the money spent the previous day, she declared that shedid not know what sum it was, but had heard him tell several peoplethat he had three thousand with him. And to the question where hegot the money, she said that he had told her that he had "stolen" itfrom Katerina Ivanovna, and that she had replied to that that hehadn't stolen it, and that he must pay the money back next day. On theprosecutor's asking her emphatically whether the money he said hehad stolen from Katerina Ivanovna was what he had spent yesterday,or what he had squandered here a month ago, she declared that he meantthe money spent a month ago, and that that was how she understood him. Grushenka was at last released, and Nikolay Parfenovitchinformed her impulsively that she might at once return to the town andthat if he could be of any assistance to her, with horses for example,or if she would care for an escort, he... would be- "I thank you sincerely," said Grushenka, bowing to him, "I'm goingwith this old gentleman; I am driving him back to town with me, andmeanwhile, if you'll allow me, I'll wait below to hear what you decideabout Dmitri Fyodorovitch." She went out. Mitya was calm, and even looked more cheerful, butonly for a moment. He felt more and more oppressed by a strangephysical weakness. His eyes were closing with fatigue. The examinationof the witnesses was, at last, over. They procceded to a revision ofthe protocol. Mitya got up, moved from his chair to the corner bythe curtain, lay down on a large chest covered with a rug, andinstantly fell asleep. He had a strange dream, utterly out of keeping with the placeand the time. He was driving somewhere in the steppes, where he had beenstationed long ago, and a peasant was driving him in a cart with apair of horses, through snow and sleet. He was cold, it was early inNovember, and the snow was falling in big wet flakes, melting assoon as it touched the earth. And the peasant drove him smartly, hehad a fair, long beard. He was not an old man, somewhere aboutfifty, and he had on a grey peasant's smock. Not far off was avillage, he could see the black huts, and half the huts were burntdown, there were only the charred beams sticking up. And as they drovein, there were peasant women drawn up along the road, a lot ofwomen, a whole row, all thin and wan, with their faces a sort ofbrownish colour, especially one at the edge, a tall, bony woman, wholooked forty, but might have been only twenty, with a long thinface. And in her arms was a little baby crying. And her breasts seemedso dried up that there was not a drop of milk in them. And the childcried and cried, and held out its little bare arms, with its littlefists blue from cold. "Why are they crying? Why are they crying?" Mitya asked, as theydashed gaily by. "It's the babe," answered the driver, "the babe weeping." And Mitya was struck by his saying, in his peasant way, "thebabe," and he liked the peasant's calling it a "babe." There seemedmore pity in it. "But why is it weeping?" Mitya persisted stupidly, "why are itslittle arms bare? Why don't they wrap it up?" "The babe's cold, its little clothes are frozen and don't warmit." "But why is it? Why?" foolish Mitya still persisted. "Why, they're poor people, burnt out. They've no bread. They'rebegging because they've been burnt out." "No, no," Mitya, as it were, still did not understand. "Tell mewhy it is those poor mothers stand there? Why are people poor? Whyis the babe poor? Why is the steppe barren? Why don't they hug eachother and kiss? Why don't they sing songs of joy? Why are they so darkfrom black misery? Why don't they feed the babe?" And he felt that, though his questions were unreasonable andsenseless, yet he wanted to ask just that, and he had to ask it justin that way. And he felt that a passion of pity, such as he hadnever known before, was rising in his heart, that he wanted to cry,that he wanted to do something for them all, so that the babe shouldweep no more, so that the dark-faced, dried-up mother should not weep,that no one should shed tears again from that moment, and he wanted todo it at once, at once, regardless of all obstacles, with all therecklessness of the Karamazovs. "And I'm coming with you. I won't leave you now for the rest of mylife, I'm coming with you", he heard close beside him Grushenka'stender voice, thrilling with emotion. And his heart glowed, and hestruggled forward towards the light, and he longed to live, to live,to go on and on, towards the new, beckoning light, and to hasten,hasten, now, at once! "What! Where?" he exclaimed opening his eyes,and sitting up on the chest, as though he had revived from a swoon,smiling brightly. Nikolay Parfenovitch was standing over him,suggesting that he should hear the protocol read aloud and sign it.Mitya guessed that he had been asleep an hour or more, but he didnot hear Nikolay Parfenovitch. He was suddenly struck by the fact thatthere was a pillow under his head, which hadn't been there when he hadleant back, exhausted, on the chest. "Who put that pillow under my head? Who was so kind?" he cried,with a sort of ecstatic gratitude, and tears in his voice, as thoughsome great kindness had been shown him. He never found out who this kind man was; perhaps one of thepeasant witnesses, or Nikolay Parfenovitch's little secretary, hadcompassionately thought to put a pillow under his head; but hiswhole soul was quivering with tears. He went to the table and saidthat he would sign whatever they liked. "I've had a good dream, gentlemen," he said in a strange voice,with a new light, as of joy, in his face. Chapter 9 They Carry Mitya Away

WHEN the protocol had been signed, Nikolay Parfenovitch turnedsolemnly to the prisoner and read him the "Committal," settingforth, that in such a year, on such a day, in such a place, theinvestigating lawyer of such-and-such a district court, havingexamined so-and-so (to wit, Mitya) accused of this and of that (allthe charges were carefully written out) and having considered that theaccused, not pleading guilty to the charges made against him, hadbrought forward nothing in his defence, while the witnesses,so-and-so, and so-and-so, and the circumstances such-and-suchtestify against him, acting in accordance with such-and-sucharticles of the Statute Book, and so on, has ruled, that, in orderto preclude so-and-so (Mitya) from all means of evading pursuit andjudgment, he be detained in such-and-such a prison, which he herebynotifies to the accused and communicates a copy of this same"Committal" to the deputy prosecutor, and so on, and so on. In brief, Mitya was informed that he was, from that moment, aprisoner, and that he would be driven at once to the town, and thereshut up in a very unpleasant place. Mitya listened attentively, andonly shrugged his shoulders. "Well, gentlemen, I don't blame you. I'm ready.... I understandthat there's nothing else for you to do." Nikolay Parfenovitch informed him gently that he would be escortedat once by the rural police officer, Mavriky Mavrikyevitch, whohappened to be on the spot.... "Stay," Mitya interrupted, suddenly, and impelled byuncontrollable feeling he pronounced, addressing all in the room: "Gentlemen, we're all cruel, we're all monsters, we all make menweep, and mothers, and babes at the breast, but of all, let it besettled here, now, of all I am the lowest reptile! I've sworn toamend, and every day I've done the same filthy things. I understandnow that such men as I need a blow, a blow of destiny to catch them aswith a noose, and bind them by a force from without. Never, nevershould I have risen of myself! But the thunderbolt has fallen. Iaccept the torture of accusation, and my public shame; I want tosuffer and by suffering I shall be purified. Perhaps I shall bepurified, gentlemen? But listen, for the last time, I am not guilty ofmy father's blood. I accept my punishment, not because I killed him,but because I meant to kill him, and perhaps I really might havekilled him. Still I mean to fight it out with you. I warn you of that.I'll fight it out with you to the end, and then God will decide.Good-bye, gentlemen, don't be vexed with me for having shouted atyou during the examination. Oh, I was still such a fool then.... Inanother minute I shall be a prisoner, but now, for the last time, as afree man, Dmitri Karamazov offers you his hand. Saying good-bye toyou, I say it to all men." His voice quivered and he stretched out his hand, but NikolayParfenovitch, who happened to stand nearest to him, with a sudden,almost nervous movement, hid his hands behind his back. Mityainstantly noticed this, and started. He let his outstretched hand fallat once. "The preliminary inquiry is not yet over," Nikolay Parfenovitchfaltered, somewhat embarrassed. "We will continue it in the town,and I, for my part, of course, am ready to wish you all success...in your defence.... As a matter of fact, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, I'vealways been disposed to regard you as, so to speak, more unfortunatethan guilty. All of us here, if I may make bold to speak for all, weare all ready to recognise that you are, at bottom, a young man ofhonour, but, alas, one who has been carried away by certain passionsto a somewhat excessive degree..." Nikolay Parfenovitch's little figure was positively majestic bythe time he had finished speaking. It struck Mitya that in anotherminute this "boy" would take his arm, lead him to another corner,and renew their conversation about "girls." But many quiteirrelevant and inappropriate thoughts sometimes occur even to aprisoner when he is being led out to execution. "Gentlemen, you are good, you are humane, may I see her to say'good-bye' for the last time?" asked Mitya. "Certainly, but considering... in fact, now it's impossible exceptin the presence of-" "Oh, well, if it must be so, it must!" Grushenka was brought in, but the farewell was brief, and of fewwords, and did not at all satisfy Nikolay Parfenovitch. Grushenka madea deep bow to Mitya. "I have told you I am yours, and I will be yours. I will followyou for ever, wherever they may send you. Farewell; you are guiltless,though you've been your own undoing." Her lips quivered, tears flowed from her eyes. "Forgive me, Grusha, for my love, for ruining you, too, with mylove." Mitya would have said something more, but he broke off and wentout. He was at once surrounded by men who kept a constant watch onhim. At the bottom of the steps to which he had driven up with sucha dash the day before with Andrey's three horses, two carts stood inreadiness. Mavriky Mavrikyevitch, a sturdy, thick-set man with awrinkled face, was annoyed about something, some suddenirregularity. He was shouting angrily. He asked Mitya to get intothe cart with somewhat excessive surliness. "When I stood him drinks in the tavern, the man had quite adifferent face," thought Mitya, as he got in. At the gates there was acrowd of people, peasants, women, and drivers. Trifon Borissovitchcame down the steps too. All stared at Mitya. "Forgive me at parting, good people!" Mitya shouted suddenlyfrom the cart. "Forgive us too!" he heard two or three voices. "Good-bye to you, too, Trifon Borissovitch!" But Trifon Borissovitch did not even turn round. He was,perhaps, too busy. He, too, was shouting and fussing aboutsomething. It appeared that everything was not yet ready in the secondcart, in which two constables were to accompany Mavriky Mavrikyevitch.The peasant who had been ordered to drive the second cart waspulling on his smock, stoutly maintaining that it was not his turnto go, but Akim's. But Akim was not to be seen. They ran to look forhim. The peasant persisted and besought them to wait. "You see what our peasants are, Mavriky Mavrikyevitch. They'veno shame!" exclaimed Trifon Borissovitch. "Akim gave you twenty-fivecopecks the day before yesterday. You've drunk it all and now youcry out. I'm simply surprised at your good-nature, with our lowpeasants, Mavriky Mavrikyevitch, that's all I can say." "But what do we want a second cart for?" Mitya put in. "Let'sstart with the one, Mavriky Mavrikyevitch. I won't be unruly, Iwon't run away from you, old fellow. What do we want an escort for?" "I'll trouble you, sir, to learn how to speak to me if you'venever been taught. I'm not 'old fellow' to you, and you can keepyour advice for another time!" Mavriky Mavrikyevitch snapped outsavagely, as though glad to vent his wrath. Mitya was reduced to silence. He flushed all over. A momentlater he felt suddenly very cold. The rain had ceased, but the dullsky was still overcast with clouds, and a keen wind was blowingstraight in his face. "I've taken a chill," thought Mitya, twitching his shoulders. At last Mavriky Mavrikyevitch, too, got into the cart, sat downheavily, and, as though without noticing it, squeezed Mitya into thecorner. It is true that he was out of humour and greatly dislikedthe task that had been laid upon him. "Good-bye, Trifon Borissovitch!" Mitya shouted again, and felthimself, that he had not called out this time from good-nature, butinvoluntarily, from resentment. But Trifon Borissovitch stood proudly, with both hands behindhis back, and staring straight at Mitya with a stern and angry face,he made no reply. "Good-bye, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, good-bye!" he heard all at oncethe voice of Kalganov, who had suddenly darted out. Running up tothe cart he held out his hand to Mitya. He had no cap on. Mitya had time to seize and press his hand. "Good-bye, dear fellow! I shan't forget your generosity," he criedwarmly. But the cart moved and their hands parted. The bell beganringing and Mitya was driven off. Kalganov ran back, sat down in a corner, bent his head, hid hisface in his hands, and burst out crying. For a long while he satlike that, crying as though he were a little boy instead of a youngman of twenty. Oh, he believed almost without doubt in Mitya's guilt. "What are these people? What can men be after this?" heexclaimed incoherently, in bitter despondency, almost despair. At thatmoment he had no desire to live. "Is it worth it? Is it worth it?" exclaimed the boy in his grief.